


lovestruck; fucked-up

by MissDinahDarling



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Dates, Awkward Flirting, Bad Decisions, Bisexual Kenny McCormick, Emotional Constipation, Episode Remix, Episode: s19e06 Tweek x Craig, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gay Craig Tucker, Idiots in Love, Immortal Kenny McCormick, Lack of Communication, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Protectiveness, Sad Craig Tucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDinahDarling/pseuds/MissDinahDarling
Summary: To put it simply, "this is like that not-so-shitty Adam Sandler movie - except with less walruses and more death."In other words, Craig gets shipped withKenny, not Tweek, during Wendy's presentation and it all goes downhill from there.
Relationships: Clyde Donovan & Craig Tucker, Craig Tucker & Tweek Tweak, Eric Cartman & Wendy Testaburger, Karen McCormick/Tricia Tucker, Kenny McCormick/Craig Tucker, Kyle Broflovski & Eric Cartman & Kenny McCormick & Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80





	lovestruck; fucked-up

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the **[heartbreak.park](https://www.instagram.com/heartbreak.park/)** AU on Instagram.

Wendy Testaburger beams at her captivated audience, taking in the congealed aura of horror and fascination.

Behind her, the presentation on _Boy Love – a cultural phenomenon_ continues to broadcast the artwork of her fellow students. Wendy had been genuinely shocked at first; when she began her research, she never really envisioned coming across such paintings, _especially_ of her friends in such… _provocative_ positions. Nor had she envisioned her presentation garnering such a reaction, like when has anyone ever seen Park County High reduced to sheer _silence_ before? Wendy could hear a _pin_ drop, it’s so quiet in the assembly. Although she must admit, she never really knew what to expect with her presentation when she had created it; a sense of curiosity, for sure, but not this shocked _awe_ she’s receiving instead. Idly, Wendy wonders if she’ll get extra credit for managing to single-handedly silence the usually rowdy crowd at PCH but knows that not even her principal could be _that_ generous.

Still, not _all_ students are reacting with such aplomb.

Kenny McCormick has a wide, manic grin on his lips; his lilac-tinted eyes sparkle brightly and it’s all the warning anyone has before he tosses his head back and cackles with sheer delight. Butters looks utterly pleased by her display, with his hands clasped to his heart and a soft smile on his face. If she squinted, Wendy could probably see the neon hearts fluttering above his head. Next to Butters, Kyle and Stan have matching expressions of exasperation; she’s not entirely sure, but Wendy is pretty certain they’re not even remotely surprised by the assembly – which does raise some intriguing questions, truly. On the other side of Kenny is Cartman, who squints at her presentation like he doesn’t know if he should applaud or cry.

Craig Tucker, on the other side of the gymnasium, does not look as pleased in the slightest. Wendy feels a drop of regret sink in her gut and she wonders if _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , she ought to have asked permission to use his image first. Indignant rage builds in his dark green eyes, his lips twitching downwards unhappily, and his friends simply stare at him with mixed expressions of concern and surprise. Wendy braces herself, her fingers clutching her cue-cards, as Craig stands up stiffly and glares at her with frosted fury.

“What,” he enunciates loudly, clearly, with barely-restrained anger dripping from his words, “the fuck?”

Yeah, she _really_ should’ve seen that coming.

* * *

Cartman clucks his tongue as he corners Wendy after the cultural assembly.

Craig had all but stormed out, with his gang of loser bitches scurrying after him. Kenny had shot his friends a lazy peace-sign, informing them that he had business to take care of, before giving chase after Craig. It’s sad how Kenny has zero standards in life, but whatever. Poor boy probably can’t even afford a sense of taste, like _damn_.

Cartman sticks behind and saunters up to their dumb Student Body President.

“You are really bad at this,” he says, not bothering to announce himself; Wendy jumps and tosses him a snide look over her shoulder. He doesn’t give her a chance to speak and continues with an air of superiority, idly checking over his manicured nails, “matchmaking, that is. If you had any sense, you would’ve found shit that hooked Craig up with Tweek, or Kenny with Butters – not this trash.” He points to the image on the projector – it’s a digital drawing of Craig and Kenny, sat on the back of Kenny’s shitty truck underneath a night sky. They’re holding cigarettes and the smoke loops above their heads to form a blurry heart. Cupid Me coos softly, but it isn’t enough to persuade Cartman that _this_ coupling makes _any_ sense.

“What’s wrong with Craig and Kenny?” Wendy asks, hands on her hips.

Cartman scoffs, “first of all, that ain’t Craig and Kenny!” He gestures at the image aggressively, “that’s a couple of dumbass edge-lords who think they’re too cool to suck dick! Spoiler alert: they’re actually fucking idiots who probably love choking on schlongs and will probably die gay-ass deaths with jizz in their lungs. You can’t hook up _two_ idiots, Wendy, it just won’t work. You need one idiot and one not-so-idiot, otherwise, how is a relationship supposed to function?”

Wendy wrinkles her nose at him, “you have bizarre preconceptions about relationships.”

“Listen,” Cartman sighs, holding out his hands; “it’s _science_ ,” technically, it’s _Cupid Me’s_ science, but it still counts, “Token and Nichole – one idiot, one not-so-idiot. You and Stan – one not-so-idiot, one idiot. The fact that you’re trying to add in Kyle kinda upsets my algorithm _and_ my sense of ethics, but it’s whatever, considering both you and that ginger bitch can also be idiots.”

“I’m telling Kyle that you think he’s a not-so-idiot,” Wendy says quickly.

“And he will never believe you,” Cartman responds, lifting his hands up with blatant smugness. Wendy can only sigh and pinch the bridge of her nose; it’s a tic she’s all but stolen from Stan, which means that they’ve reached that gross level of intimacy for bullshit relationships. 

“Eric,” Wendy begins, measured and patient, “why don’t you just tell me what’s _really_ going on?”

“Craig and Kenny. It won’t work. I’m telling you; it’s not going to work.”

“Well, they don’t have to get together – you are aware that these are just pictures, right?”

“Wendy, does Kyle have the braincell right now? ‘Cause you’re being an idiot, bitch. You have no idea what fucking bullshit you have just started.”

“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion—”

“Fuck you Wendy, just wait and see,” Cartman says darkly, his eyes glinting under the harsh, synthetic lighting in the gym, “and when shit goes south, I’ll be there to bask in your sweet, sweet devastation, what do you think about that, bitch?”

“I’m thinking about cutting your tongue out and giving it to Kyle for his birthday.”

“Gross,” Cartman wrinkles his nose as Cupid Me titters about kinky fetishes and the many uses Kyle might have for his tongue; fucking weak, “but whatever, I’ll still be right, so suck it.”

“Might take me a while to _find_ it,” Wendy snipes at him dryly, “but sure, I’ll ‘suck it’.”

“Fuck you, Wendy!”

* * *

“Hey Tucker!”

“Fuck off Kenny,” Craig responds stiffly, marching towards the art block with determination; if he could just make it to the photography team’s darkroom, then he will be safe. He will regroup, stabilise his pounding heart, sort out his thoughts, reply to Clyde’s demanding texts and—

“Dude, wait up!”

—figure out how to hide his dumb feelings for Kenny fuckin’ McCormick. Goddammit, he isn’t ready to confront this shit, like, he has a whole fucking five-step plan and _Confronting Feelings_ is Step-fucking-One. Step Two is _Assess Potential Reaction_ and well, he might’ve skipped a step, or three, but at least he now knows how Kenny-stupid-fucking- _asshole_ -McCormick would react…

Fuck.

“Craig, come on!” Kenny wheedles in a tone that is artificially sweet and sickening to hear.

It’s also painfully manipulative and successfully halts Craig in his tracks; his clammy hands curl into fists as his mind berates him for being so fucking weak to a pretty boy’s simpering needs. He doesn’t turn around though; he keeps his gaze stony, focused on the door ahead of him which leads to a sanctuary of darkness and peace.

Two years ago he had discovered that no one else uses the photography room apart from him in this whole-ass school – the stoners tried to utilise it and a couple of other assholes wanted to commandeer it has a secret hook-up spot, but Craig’s pretty intimidating when he wants to be, so no one has the balls to venture there anymore. Well, apart from the Goth Kids, but even they respect the art of photography, so they try and stay away when they know Craig’s got shit developing or stored in there.

He wonders if Kenny knows about the darkroom – the dude has a penchant for uncovering South Park’s hidden nooks and overlooked crannies, so it wouldn’t exactly be a shock, but fuck would it be irritating. Kenny’s already wormed his way into Craig’s fucking mind and heart, he can’t just violate Craig’s fucking safe space too.

Oh, goddammit.

He has a fucking _safe space_ – who the fuck does he think he is, goddamn Cartman?

“Dude?” Kenny’s voice breaks through Craig’s reverie; it makes him realises that he’s just been stood in the middle of the hallway, silent and stony, looking like an absolute dickhead.

“What do you want Kenny?” he asks, keeping his tone carefully neutral despite his racing heart.

The blond jumps into view, appearing before Craig with a small smile, “interesting assembly, right?”

“That’s one word for it,” Craig replies, not wanting to give anything away; he tries to toe the line of being fiercely defensive and unbelievingly indifferent. Kenny will easily see through his mask if he’s too much of either, so Craig just. Tries to balance his shit.

“I guess another word for it could be _cute_ , right?” Kenny’s smile begins to falter in the face of Craig giving him _nothing_ to work with, but his eyes look so fucking earnest, “like, those pictures? Man, we got some real Picassos at this school, huh?”

“Picasso preferred a more surrealist approach to painting, contorting physical attributes in a manner to highlight our differences and—”

“Babe, you are so lucky I’m too busy thinking about sucking your dick to actually consider kicking it.”

“—that shitty ‘artwork’ from before cannot even be considered the same calibre as – uh, never mind,” Craig mutters, trailing off when he sees the tightness around Kenny’s eyes; then he registers Kenny’s lazy drawl and feels his hackles rise, “stop thinking about my dick, asshole.”

“Can’t,” Kenny quickly replies, shoving his hands into his pockets, “those pictures were all kinds of _inspiring_ – wanna re-enact a few with me?”

Holy shit, Craig thinks his heart has just stopped; the screaming _yes_ is just on the tip of his tongue, but then he hears the giggle of girls coming from behind him. His eyes flicker to the side, askance, and sees Wendy thanking the foreign exchange students for helping her with the presentation. He sees how they keep _looking_ at him and Kenny, how they smile and whisper to each other, how Kenny’s smile stretches as he glances at them too… and Craig feels his face _burn_.

Humiliation, hot and vapid, bubbles in his heart and shoots down his spine to curdle in his stomach.

Fuck.

“I’d rather choke on Cartman’s schlong,” he replies rigidly, ‘cause Kenny isn’t being— he doesn’t _mean_ — there’s no fucking way this act is fucking sincere. It’s just… Kenny loves making people laugh, is probably getting _paid_ to milk this shit and Craig refuses to play into it. Refuses to let anyone know how much he really wants to date Kenny, refuses to allow himself to be tricked into a fucking prank.

‘Cause… ‘cause this _has_ to be a prank, right? Kenny isn’t actually thinking about sucking anyone’s dicks and he’s probably just taking advantage of the spotlight Wendy’s given him. Kenny likes _beneficial_ attention, enjoys and thrives when people take notice of him and _why the fuck does Craig know all this shit about him_?

“Hot, but mine’s bigger,” Kenny quips back, which, yeah, is probably true.

“Pass.”

“Come on, I’ll even take you on a date first,” the blond tries again, which _hurts_. Goddammit, Craig’s finally getting asked out by the hottest boy in South Park and it’s not even _real_.

“Hard pass.”

Kenny opens his mouth to push the matter further, but then something unreadable flickers through his gaze and he closes it with a tight smile. Craig arches a brow and shoves his fisted hands into his pockets to hide how much they shake.

“Dude, are you seriously that mad about the presentation?”

“Right, ‘cause I should be happy that I’m being ragged on for being gay.”

“What— people aren’t ragging on you for being _gay_ , dude, no one gives a shit about who’s banging who in this economy!”

“I stand corrected – I’m actually being ragged on ‘cause people think I could be interested in _you_.” Craig absently wonders if he’s gone too far when Kenny’s expression falters slightly; but then, as quick as it had appeared, it’s covered up by a smug smirk and he quickly snuffs out his misguided concerns.

“I can’t help but wonder if you’d be this pissed if it had been Clyde canoodling you on those drawings, or Token, Jimmy, fuck it – Cartman wouldn’t make you this mad. Kinda makes me wonder _why_ ,” Kenny all but purrs, and it’s, _fuck_ , it’s just.

Too close.

Too fucking close.

“Because I have _taste_ , asshole,” Craig says, the insult slipping easily from his lips as his nails bite into the soft flesh of his palms, fuck, his arms are starting to shake from how tightly clenched his body has become.

“Careful babe, that almost hurt my feelings,” Kenny teases, his eyes flashing.

“You have feelings?” Craig retorts, almost enjoying this back-and-forth exchange of wits.

“Craig.”

“Kenny.”

The blond clearly doesn’t feel the same; instead, Kenny rocks backward with a critical look in his gaze, tilting his head as he examines Craig. There’s a moment of silence, where all Craig can hear is the giggles of Wendy’s friends and all he can see is the tight, drawn smile on Kenny’s face.

Then the blond nods.

“Okay, you’re clearly pissed about all this shit,” he says, twirling a finger in the air lazily, “I’ll give you some space, yeah?” He winks, his tight smile melting into a sharp smirk, “I’ll hit you up later?”

“Don’t waste your time,” Craig says, hating himself when he feels his face prickle with heated pleasure. God yes, Kenny could hit him up all the ti— no, no he fucking can’t, ‘cause the asshole clearly isn’t taking this seriously and that fucking _hurts_.

“Oh Craig – anytime with you can’t possibly be considered _wasted_.”

“Such a charmer,” Craig lisps acidly.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Kenny says, his tone dropping deeply, before he lazily salutes and turns on his heel to saunter down the hallway like he fucking owns Park County High. Goddammit, the dude spent so much time being a mute that he’s really perfected the art of body language.

Then his words _hit_ Craig like a fucking sledgehammer. He swallows and tries to stifle the tingling sensation curling in his gut; Kenny probably means it as a promise, but _shit_ – does it sound like a warning, dark and threatening, all at once.

Goddammit, he’s fucked.

* * *

“Oh, hello boys!” Laura Tucker beams, holding her front door open wider to allow Tweek and Jimmy to slip though, “it’s so good to see you again! Craig’s just upstairs with Clyde and Token – they’re thinking about ordering pizza, want me to get you some too?”

Tweek sighs wistfully, ‘cause South Park’s selection of father figures is dire at best, but the moms are something else. Laura Tucker, in particular, has always been his favourite, mostly ‘cause she’s the only one who doesn’t ask him awkward questions about his family and their peculiar ingredients in their coffee. She’s also really fucking nice and pretty open-minded, which often leaves Tweek wanting to hug her tight and tell her _everything_ that goes on behind his family’s closed door.

Jimmy just likes her ‘cause she’s hot.

Which, well.

He isn’t _wrong_.

“Well, Mrs Tucker,” Jimmy purrs, shifting his weight from one crutch to the other, “you know the way to a man’s heart is through his stuh-stuh— is through his— through— the way to a man’s heart is— through his stomach.” Then he winks and Tweek just about dies inside, ‘cause he can’t ever imagine flirting with _anyone_ least of all a woman who is more than twice his age and the mother of his best friend.

But Laura merely titters and bats at Jimmy’s shoulder, rolling her eyes as she closes the door behind them.

“You little charmer,” she drawls with a wry grin; Jimmy sighs, disappointment glinting in his frown as she nods towards the stairs, unfazed by his attempts of wooing her, “go on now, I’ll bring the pizzas up when they arrive.”

Then she disappears into the kitchen, presumably back to her daughter as Tricia’s loud complaints about her brother’s weird friends slowly fill up the house. Tweek twitches, his hands curling tighter around the Tupperware box he’s brought; he doesn’t like being called weird, like, he _knows_ he is, but hearing it still hurts.

Laura’s voice cuts through Tweek’s spiralling thoughts as she admonishes Tricia for her insensitivity, before gushing about how sweet and kind Craig’s friends are for coming over to fix her baby’s sadness, as his melancholy always leaves her with extra grey hairs. Tricia then scoffs and asks if that’s the reason why their bathroom’s full of blonde hair dye.

Tweek decides there and then to head upstairs to avoid the inevitable fight.

“Come on,” he says, nudging at Jimmy’s ankle with a soft kick, “you can seduce Mrs Tucker later.”

“She’s into me man, I’m telling you,” Jimmy croons, following after Tweek with a broad grin, “look at the way she smiled at me and tell me she isn’t fuh-fuh— falling for me, very much. I can _taste_ it.”

“Gross,” Tweek wrinkles his nose, picking up the pace to escape Tricia’s audible moans and Jimmy’s gross commentary on Mrs Tucker’s attributes. He reaches Craig’s door, his eyes flicking over the stickers, photos and graffiti with a nostalgic hum of happiness – Craig gives no shits about what his friends do to his door, his walls, or his furniture, so long as they leave his bed and guinea pig alone.

“One day, I’m gonna get Craig to call me duh-daddy,” Jimmy declares, which is just.

 _No_.

Tweek, faintly hysterical, knocks on Craig’s door, “are you, _nngh_ , decent? Because I’m not really here under, _argh_ , duress but I feel, _gah_ , really duressed right now!”

“Not a real word,” Jimmy informs him helpfully, before he reaches past Tweek to open Craig’s door. Before Tweek even has the chance to blink, Jimmy swaggers into the bedroom with a broad grin and says, “Craig, it’s me, your daddy! Give me a kiss!”

Pursing his lips forlornly, Tweek pads into the room and kicks the door closed behind him, wondering if he could get away with just leaving the Tupperware on the ground before absconding with his dignity intact. But then he sees the sight before him and his heart falters – there’s a large mound on Craig’s bed which is shaped liked three nearly-grown adults huddled together and it’s trembling faintly.

He’s only been friends with Craig for about a year, but the guy’s been nothing but _nice_ to him. It doesn’t sound like much to anyone else, but to Tweek – who’s been mocked, belittled, used and hurt by so many people – that _niceness_ means so much to him. Craig’s never been bothered by his spasms, has never cared about the countless cups of coffee spilling out of his locker, has never cared that Tweek is strange, different and _weird_.

Which is why he stays.

“Uh,” Tweek utters, his grip on the Tupperware growing clammy and tight, “are you a sad boy, Craig?”

The clustered lump of blankets on the bed shifts slightly; there’s a tense pause, full of furious whispering and sulky twitching before a beleaguered and heavy sigh erupts from the cluster.

“No,” Craig says.

“Yes,” Clyde and Token chime together.

Jimmy snorts and approaches the bed, prodding curiously at the lump with a crutch with Tweek quick on his heels.

“We got suh-suh-sad boy hours going on?” Jimmy asks, smirking when Clyde giggles from being relentlessly prodded by his crutch.

“Sad Boy Hours is his best playlist,” Tweek remarks, casting a glance towards Craig’s phone as it slowly pumps out Ben Howard’s Black Flies; he wonders how many times it’s been repeated, but then—

“It’s not when he’s playing the same song fifteen times in a row!” Clyde complains.

“Seventeen,” Token corrects, his voice muffled but the weariness completely clear, “it’s been seventeen times.”

Tweek and Jimmy share a look before the brunet throws his crutches down decisively.

“Okay,” Tweek says, “we’re coming in.”

“You weren’t invited,” Craig protests, but it’s weakly uttered at best and does nothing to defend his fortress from being invaded. Tweek and Jimmy squirm under the blankets until they’re hit by a wall of heat and boy musk. Craig’s tucked between Clyde and Token; Token has Stripe on his lap and Clyde has his phone out. Bebe’s Instagram account is visible, which means they’ve been trying to distract Craig via the means of cute animals and pretty clothes.

“We’re your friends,” Jimmy argues, folding his legs beneath him as he leans against Token, “the invitation is implicit and has no expuh-ex— it has no expiry date.”

“My patience has an expiry date,” Craig says petulantly, but his complaints are cut off by Clyde’s sharp elbow digging into his ribs; he adopts a reluctant expression of resignation and says, “whatever, like I could kick you out now.”

“Exactly,” Jimmy beams before he reaches over and prods Craig’s cheek, “so, you gonna be a sad bitch for long?” Tweek knows he’s only asking ‘cause sad bitches bring down the mood and if there’s one thing Jimmy can’t stand, it’s sad bitches who bring down the mood. And bitches who steal his jokes. And bitches who heckle at his shows but are shit at heckling. And bitches in general.

“Yes Jimmy,” Craig confirms dryly, “I’m foreseeing a long stint of sad bitchery followed by a short stint of bitter bitchery. It involves kicking your ass and feeling no shame over it.”

“Dude, you can’t beat up a disabled kid,” Clyde admonishes with a gasp.

“Is it more ableist to say you can’t beat up a disabled kid? Or is it ableist to assume that disabled kids can’t fight?” Token queries aloud.

Tweek counts down from ten and absently wonders why he’s never chosen smarter friends.

“Schrodinger’s Ableism,” Jimmy declares with a broad smile, “in that you should never assume shit about disabled kids, very much! Nuh-not that you need to worry, ‘cause I will _always_ buh-buh— I will— I will always buh— will always beat your ass!”

“Well,” Craig scoffs derisively, “now I’m _extra_ sad.”

Tweek barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes ‘cause _wow_ , who knew that Craig’s theatrics could be _this_ bad?

“Good job we made Space Cakes then,” Jimmy grins, nudging Tweek pointedly; rolling his eyes, Tweek pushes Jimmy away and reaches into his bag to pull out a small tub. Inside is the ironically named Space Cakes; zero weed, just pure _aesthetic_. It had taken all morning to bake the cupcakes, but only ‘cause Jimmy kept eating the batter and Tweek has incredibly high standards for the icing.

Tweek watches fondly as his friends’ eyes light up with anticipation; their mouths falling agape with awe when he pulls the lid off. The scent of sugar blossoms immediately, overtaking the musk of _boy_ and filling up their tiny huddle. Everyone’s eyes scour the vanilla cupcakes, taking in the galaxy-coloured frosting, as well as the tiny-iced stars and planets which decorate the top. For extra garnish, Jimmy dug up his edible glitter and showered the baked goods with gusto.

Craig gently takes a cupcake covered in stars and finished with a tiny Neptune, his smile soft with appreciation. “Thanks, Tweek,” he murmurs before he delicately nibbles at the iced planet decoration, “and Jimmy, I guess.”

“Oh my god,” Clyde sighs, “you eat like a dumb bird.” He then takes a cupcake and takes a vicious bite, smearing purple icing and glitter across his nose and cheeks; Tweek grins, ‘cause if Craig’s a bird then Clyde’s definitely a hamster. Token’s probably a squirrel, Jimmy’s a camel and he’s…

Uh, like.

He’s probably a stick insect, or something.

“Bold words from a man devouring Uranus,” Token snickers, before he turns to Tweek and picks up a cupcake, “can I keep one for Nichole?”

“Sure,” Tweek says before he arches a brow at Clyde and reaches over to wipe the icing off his nose, “you could take one for Bebe, but I don’t trust you to not eat it on your way home.”

“A valid concern,” Clyde says, nodding his head as he swipes another cupcake, “I’ll take Venus, ‘cause like, feminism and shit. This one is Venus, right?”

“That’s Mars,” Craig corrects.

“Oh, what about this one?”

“That’s Saturn.”

“This one?”

“You just picked up Mars again!”

“Dude, they all look the same.”

“Venus is pale yellow, you fucking—”

“I can’t believe I was worried about you,” Clyde snipes sourly, snatching up a cupcake with a yellow planet decorating it. Tweek gives it five minutes before Bebe’s gift becomes Clyde’s next snack and subtly reaches out to hide a Venus cupcake for his friend later.

Craig merely snickers before his amusement dies a swift death; he leans against Token’s warm body with a sigh as he inspects the cupcake in his hand. His playlist finally leaves Ben Howard behind and begins to play the opening bars to Jorja Smith’s Let Me Down; the piano is beautifully melancholic, but it is a major mood killer.

Their huddle falls into silence as Jorja’s voice brings down the atmosphere, with only Stripe’s squeaks breaking the quiet.

“I’m just a joke now,” Craig finally mutters, picking off a star and slipping it inside his mouth; Tweek’s never seen anyone look so sad whilst eating something so cute and honestly, it’s jarring to witness, “I just… I don’t want him to find it _funny_ , y’know? The whole,” he waves a hand in the air, “ _dating_ me, thing.”

His honesty comes out in a hushed murmur, but it’s shockingly loud in his quiet room. Clyde sniffs and reaches out to squeeze Craig’s knee gently; it must be strange, Tweek thinks, that their roles have suddenly reversed, but it is refreshing to see Clyde act so maturely for once.

Even if his mouth is smeared with icing from Bebe’s alleged gift.

No one says anything and Tweek wonders if it’s because they can’t say anything or if they don’t know what to say; comforting Craig is a strange concept, as they typically rag on him when he gets into one of his moods. It helps him achieve a sense of normalcy, but Tweek supposes this situation _is_ a little different from the rest.

Which is why the words come so easily to him when he says, “then don’t accept a, _gah_ , date with him.” He accompanies his suggestion with a shrug, scowling when Clyde gets even more icing on his face when the guy arches a brow at him. He sighs and reaches across to wipe away the mess on his cheek; honestly, since Mrs Donovan passed away, it’s like Clyde ended up getting adopted by four different moms and they’re all here under this goddamn blanket, “if he asks you out, tell him to, _nngh_ , go fuck himself.”

Token snorts on a star and begins to choke, his eyes watering as Jimmy thumps him firmly on the back.

“Please,” he coughs out, placing a hand over his mouth politely, “please let me be there when you tell Kenny McCormick to go fuck himself.”

Craig laps at the frosting slowly and Tweek can see him consider his suggestion; it’s funny, ‘cause Jimmy once told him that you could literally see the pinwheel on Craig’s face when he thinks, which isn’t half as funny as Clyde once declaring Craig to be all leg and no brain. It’s not that Craig _isn’t_ clever, ‘cause he can be… it’s just that. Well.

He’s not exactly the _quick_ kind of clever.

“Okay,” Craig finally says, glancing up at Tweek with dark eyes, “I’ll tell him to go fuck himself.”

They all nod, firm and decisive – happy that this is the route that Craig has chosen. Inwardly, Tweek knows that dating Kenny would probably do Craig some good, would actually make him pretty happy, but not if it’s a joke. Not if it’ll just end with Craig hurting more. It’s… a _strange_ thing, this habit they’ve developed; it’s pretty co-dependent, but after Bebe broke Clyde’s heart the first time and after the whole shitshow with Jimmy and Leslie, they’ve all collectively decided that if someone dates one of them, then they’re dating _all_ of them, so to speak.

And Kenny needs to _prove_ himself before he gets a chance with Craig’s heart.

Like, only Nichole and Bebe – after apologising to Clyde for messing him around – have managed to earn their respects, so the bar’s been placed pretty high.

Eventually, Craig breaks the silence by sighing deeply as he leans against Token, “okay, I’m done with talking about me,” he announces, before he points at Clyde decisively, “talk about yourself, go.”

Clyde’s smile is blinding as he perks up with joy glittering in his eyes.

“Okay, so I went out with Bebe last week and she dared me to buy those teeny-tiny condoms, you know, the ones for your fingers, but I also had to find a way of admitting to the cashier that they’re really for my dick? They’re not, so feel free to stop laughing at any time, Token—”

“Still a bit generous, isn’t it?”

“—choke Jimmy, _choke_ on that cupcake—”

“—sure, it’s not like I could choke on your duh-duh-dick—”

“— _anyway_!” Clyde continues loudly, slamming a hand across Jimmy’s face, “we ended up filling them with like, banana milkshake, the worst kinda milkshake and just went drive-by shooting in her mom’s car. We ended up hitting Mr Mackey in the dick twice, pretty sure the dude was on a date too, and then we hit up Raisin’s, ‘cause Bebe wanted Mercedes to give back a necklace or some shit, did you know those two dated? Like, what? Anyway, Mercedes refused, so I ended up just going apeshit with chicken wings, like pelting that crap full-throttle at customers, I’m in full distraction-mode, stealing shit off plates and just throwing it everywhere, then Bebe managed to snatch her necklace back and now we’re like, banned for life and—”

Clyde continues his story with an unrelenting, upbeat tone; Tweek loves it when Clyde tells a story, just ‘cause the guy is so enthralling to watch. He bats at Jimmy until the guy lifts an arm and Tweek tucks himself into the space with an idle hum; Craig feeds Token pieces of cupcake and Clyde just thrives when the spotlight is on him. Stripe just scurries from lap to lap, nose twitching as she sniffs hopefully for fallen crumbs.

The moment is sweetly peaceful and Tweek knows they all have to savour it.

Fuck knows when they’ll get another quiet moment – especially with Kenny McCormick’s presence on the horizon.

* * *

“Hey Craig,” Kenny greets, leaning against Jimmy’s locker with a broad smirk, “you’re looking effervescent today.”

Craig pauses and turns to arch a brow at the blond, “wooing me with memes, huh? Did you get that tip from Clyde?”

“Surprisingly no,” Kenny replies, shoving his hands into his pockets, “your friends are being… annoyingly elusive.” Craig arches a brow at the impressive vocabulary, whereas Kenny simply wrinkles his nose and glances down the hallway with a faint frown, “I mean that both physically and online – hey Craig, tell me the truth, am I being ghosted?”

Craig sighs as he takes out his history book and closes his locker.

“What do you want Kenny?”

The blond throws him a toothy grin. “Oh, so many things,” he sighs wistfully, “sober parents, the chance to eat three meals a day for once, to win a million dollars, fuck it – to win _five_ dollars, maybe the chance to use those five dollars to spoil a cute boy this Friday night…” he trails off pointedly, “you think you know anyone who could help me out with that last one?”

Craig ducks his head as he feels his cheeks prickle with heat; he chews his lip thoughtfully as he briefly imagines actually going on a date with Kenny. It’d probably be something cheap and cheerful, like skating on Stark’s Pond or cheating the arcade games in Denver; both would be awesome dates, ‘cause he’d be with Kenny and that’s all that matters. Craig finds himself wanting to accept, has the word on the tip of his tongue as his palms grow clammy with excitement… but then, his eyes drift past Kenny’s body and lands on the cluster of girls huddled behind him.

They’re avidly watching his conversation with Kenny, tittering and whispering amongst each other, and all the joy in his heart rapidly evaporates, leaving behind a hollow emptiness. Tweek’s words ring clear in Craig’s mind and he clings onto them as the icy feeling of humiliation spreads through his veins like a virus.

“No one desperate enough, that’s for sure,” he replies coldly before he turns on his heel and walks away. He thinks he hears Kenny choke or scoff or _something_ , but he jams his earbuds in and blasts Foals’ Spanish Sahara until the world around him fades away.

Tweek had been right.

Hope isn’t worth the humiliation of being wrong.

* * *

Kenny asks him out a lot after that.

He asks him out during school, whenever their lessons overlap; he asks him out in the lunch hall when Craig is just trying to eat; he asks him out during gym, before and after they get dressed in the locker room. One time, he tried to ask whilst Craig was down to his fucking boxers and Clyde had to chase the cackling blond away with a towel-whip.

Kenny asks him out first thing in the morning and then it becomes the last thing Craig hears before school ends for the day. It’s weird how it’s always at school, how it’s always during the day, how it’s never at the weekend, or online, or whatever.

Like, has the dude never heard of _decorum_? Christ.

And now, it’s become this whole fucking spectacle, this whole _thing_ that people look forward to at school – how will Kenny be rejected that day, and will Craig ever take that stick outta his ass? It begins to feature in the school newspaper until Jimmy puts his foot down, then it just takes off on social media. Tweek tries to tell their principal that this is akin to bullying and harassment, but he isn’t taken seriously.

This is just the whole crux of the matter really – no one is fucking taking this shit seriously.

Least of all Kenny.

* * *

“Hey babe.”

Craig winces at how desperately fast his heart begins to beat when Kenny neatly sidesteps into his path, blocking him from joining his friends at their table. His fingers curl tightly around his tray, the tension in his body rigidly freezing him to the spot.

“Just can’t help yourself, can you?” he bites out, anxiety pooling at the base of his spine, rippling upwards to prickle the nape of his neck.

“I can never help myself when you’re involved,” Kenny purrs, loping towards Craig with lazy intent, “so tell me babe, think I could help myself to a slice of you on Friday?”

Craig rolls his eyes and hates how easily amused he is by Kenny’s flirtatious antics.

“Kenny McCormick—”

“Ooh, say my name some more—”

“—you’re such a—”

“—fuck, I love it when you insult me—”

“—so fucking—”

“Hey fellas,” Jimmy interjects their flustering with a broad grin, “I wasn’t aware you were into a little exhibitionism – if I’d had known, I would’ve fuh-fuh— I would’ve— I would’ve fuh— if I’d had known, I would’ve— recorded this shit.”

Craig flushes and scowls, realises sourly that his conversation with Kenny’s brought quite the audience in the cafeteria; his lips curl back into a snarl as he glares at the tittering girls and the heckling guys nearby. Kenny has the sense to at least look mildly contrite as he ducks his head.

“Show’s over,” Craig declares hotly, tensing up to the point that his body begins to quiver, “fuck off.”

It takes a moment, but eventually everyone goes about their own fucking business.

“Chill your tits Craig,” Jimmy grins, “before they fall off.”

Craig can only sigh, flexing his grip on his tray as he rolls his shoulders back uncomfortably; he might have lost the spotlight, but he still hates knowing that everyone’s _thinking_ about him, that he’s become the number one topic of gossip for the PCH rumour mill. It sucks and it makes him want to abscond out of the cafeteria, out of the school, the state, the country, the whole fucking planet, goddammit.

“And _you_ ,” oh shit, apparently Jimmy isn’t finished, ‘cause the dude’s just rounded on Kenny with a disarming grin, “stop trying to squeeze this grape dry,” he says sharply, his eyes as cutting as his tone, “‘cause you’re never gonna get a duh-duh— never gonna get a— you’re never— you’re never gonna— you’re never gonna get a _date_.”

Craig blinks and feels himself melt inwardly.

“Jimmy, every morning I wake up devasted ‘cause it’s just one more day where I remember that you’re not into dudes and it really breaks my heart,” he says, pointedly turning away from Kenny to give Jimmy a crooked smile. He hears Kenny sigh which is shortly followed by the soft scuff of sneakers on the floor; his mind settles down, but his heart still pounds a fierce beat in his chest.

“I love you too Craig, but y’know, never say never,” Jimmy winks.

“You mean I have a chance?” Craig asks, slowly making his way towards his friends.

“I mean you’re too high-maintenance for me,” Jimmy remarks with a smirk, which is such bullshit, ‘cause Craig’s such low-maintenance, like all he needs is someone to feed him and listen to him bitch about astrology, what the fuck, “but I wouldn’t say no to eating that ass, very much.”

“I don’t— what does that mean?” Craig frowns.

“It means pussy is pussy, but your ass is still an ass.”

Craig blinks. “How does that clear up anything?”

“I’m a man who enjoys fine cuisine, Craig, don’t kinkshame me now.”

Craig’s blinking increases to a worrying amount. “What are you talking about?”

Jimmy merely winks again and slides into his seat, joining their friends with wide grin. Tweek eyes Jimmy with a suspicious glare and Craig is faintly grateful that he isn’t the only one who is unnerved by the brunet’s antics.

“Just saying,” Jimmy shrugs, shifting up to give Craig space on the bench, “daddy likes the finer things in life.”

Craig’s eye twitches as he sits down and he throws an irritated glare at Token, “he’s calling himself _daddy_ again, make him stop.”

“Jimmy, there’s only room for one daddy in this friendship group, so unless _you_ have Elon Musk on speed dial, I suggest you back the fuck off,” Token says tiredly, not even deigning to glance up from his sushi tray. Fucking _sushi_ , seriously?

“You might have the money,” Jimmy snorts as Clyde snickers quietly, “but you hardly have the swuh-swuh-swagger!”

His words prove fatal, as Token’s head immediately snaps up; his eyes are full of indignant fire as he begins spitting evidence of all the swagger he has and how he has more style in his pinkie than Jimmy does in his entire body.

Craig is just endlessly grateful that his friends are _this_ ridiculous as, when their argument reaches pivotal levels, all thoughts of Kenny McCormick get swiftly swept away.

* * *

The next time Kenny asks Craig out, it’s during an incredibly important and highly confidential conversation between himself and Token at his locker.

“If you were a drag queen, what would your name be?” Token asks, arms curled around his body as he leans against Jimmy’s locker. One day, Jimmy himself might actually use that locker, but in the meantime, it’s become a crutch of sorts for everyone else who needs to talk to Craig. Distantly, he wonders if that’s, like, somewhat ironic or whatever.

Regardless, Craig pauses his task of putting away his textbooks and peers at his friend curiously; Token’s carefully avoiding meeting his gaze, choosing to stare down the hallway with a glazed expression instead. Craig tilts his head as he considers the question, his eyes focusing on the smear of glitter on Token’s eyelids.

“Celeste,” he answers easily, taking another textbook out of his bag and shoving it into his locker, “‘cause stars and shit.”

“I dig the aesthetic,” Token remarks, visibly swallowing as he musters the courage to actually look Craig in the eye, “Nichole did my makeup for me last night; it was for a _Doing My Boyfriend’s Makeup_ tag for her Youtube channel—”

“That’s still a thing?”

“—apparently. Anyway I, uh, I don’t know? _Vibed_ with it, as Clyde would say.”

“That’s one hell of a jump, going from wearing makeup to planning a career in drag,” Craig says, but he’s careful to keep his tone neutral; he must sound too cold though, ‘cause Token’s eyebrows knit together self-consciously and Craig kicks himself for hurting his friend’s feelings, “that being said, you definitely have the legs for it. And the bone structure. It’s actually homophobic that all my friends are so hot but won’t let me suck their dicks.”

“Pretty sure Jimmy would let you,” Token snorts, before his expression turns thoughtful, “pretty sure Clyde would too.”

Craig smirks ‘cause Token isn’t _wrong_ ; when Craig had finally emerged from the closet, Clyde’s version of acceptance had been to passionately declare Craig’s mouth to be the only male mouth he would be happy to French. Craig closes his locker and leans against it, pursing his lips as he stares at Token, “so, have you thought of a name?”

Token nods seriously, “I want something _bougie_ , like… Preena Donna, or Fame Fatale.”

“You’ve been talking to Jimmy about this, haven’t you?” Craig says, narrowing his eyes accusingly.

“The man comes up with good puns,” Token says, grinning broadly as he picks off lint from his cashmere sweater; honestly, only Token could rock up to Park County High in Vivienne-fucking-Westwood and _not_ look outta place.

“I can’t believe you went to Jimmy first and not me.”

“I wanted to talk to someone without being judged.”

“Then you really should’ve gone to Tweek.”

“I’ll remember that next time I have a life-altering epiphany about my gend—”

“Hey Craig!” Kenny interjects, appearing before them in a blur of orange and blond; his hood is down, so the brown fur gathers around his strong jawline attractively, highlighting his sharp angles whilst softly mingling with his chaotic blond locks; goddammit, how dare he be so fucking hot, “you look resplendent this morning.”

Craig sighs and tries hard to ignore the way his stomach flutters at the compliment, “you have a Word-of-the-Day app or something?”

“It’s a calendar,” Kenny says, rumpling up his hair with a self-conscious laugh, “Kyle got it me for my birthday. I figured a fancy guy like you would like long-ass words like that.”

Token snorts as he jabs a thumb in Craig’s direction, “he can’t even spell _February_ , what makes you think—”

“Thanks Token,” Craig cuts him off sharply, hating how hot his face suddenly feels which means he’s definitely blushing right now, “what do you want Kenny?”

The blond grins and shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels as he bats his eyes sweetly. Craig finds himself transfixed by the small dimple in Kenny’s right cheek and wonders if it’s as soft to touch as it looks; his fingers twitch by his sides, ‘cause somehow, he just knows that it is.

“Two things, gentlemen,” Kenny says, before his gaze flickers to Token momentarily, “one: you should definitely go with Preena Donna. It fits your whole,” he waves a hand over Token’s form airily, ignoring the boy’s self-righteous shriek of _you were listening_!? “ _thing_. The second thing is that I’m free on Friday. Hint, hint, Tucker?”

“Sorry, I’m gonna need you to spell it out for me,” Craig replies dryly.

“Thought you weren’t any good at spelling,” Kenny teases, which has Craig smirking despite himself; he feels his defenses lower, knows his icy façade is melting in face of Kenny’s lovely warmth… but then. Then Kenny has to _ruin_ it, ‘cause he shoots a wink down the hallway and Craig follows his gaze to find _Butters_ , standing awkwardly next to a drinking fountain. He’s doing an awful job of ‘acting natural’, ‘cause his eyes are glued on Kenny and Craig, a bright grin on his lips as he shoots a thumbs-up at Kenny.

 _Shit_.

“I’m not good at many things,” Craig replies, biting the words out behind gritted teeth as discomfort sweeps through his body, “like getting you to leave me the fuck alone.”

Kenny blinks, mildly shocked by the conversation’s 180° twist; even Token shifts beside him, clearly sensing the rising tension in the atmosphere. Fuck, he’s so mad that he dropped his guard down for a second, so mad that Kenny’s relentless charisma actually worked on him and—

Goddammit, he really likes this dumb boy, but Craig just. He can’t just risk his pride, not in this dumb town, not when there are assholes here like _Cartman_ who will literally exploit his pain and somehow make a profit outta it at the same time. He _likes_ Kenny… but he likes not being humiliated more.

He’s been The Guy with The Bushy Mom.

He’s been The Guy with No Balls.

And now… he’s The Guy who is a Potential Homosexual and in a Wild yet Laughable Love Affair with White Trash.

It’s pretty devastating how tired he feels from being _The Guy_.

“Hey Kenny,” Token says with faux cheer dripping from his words, “I will literally pay you $50 to leave Craig alone right now.” He then digs into his pocket and pulls out a colourful note; Craig’s not sure why Token is carrying Monopoly money around, but he has an inkling that he’s just been waiting for an opportunity like this.

“That’s not even real fucking money,” Kenny states, all traces of joy slipping from his face, an expression of stony neutrality taking its place. It’s unnerving how one guy can have so many masks and it’s even more so when it’s _Kenny_ who’s wearing them.

At first, Craig had admired Kenny’s ability to just hide his true thoughts and feelings, but as his own emotions developed, he soon found Kenny’s thick armour to be increasingly irritating.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’d actually give away my actual fucking money,” Token retorts derisively, crushing the note in his palm.

“Like I’d _take_ it,” Kenny bites back, his lilac-eyes darkening to a threatening violet; the colour is hypnotically pretty and for a moment, Craig forgets he’s annoyed with Kenny, “I’m not a charity-case!”

“No, ‘cause charity-cases are saved for those who are _deserving_. You’re just a dick and—” Token cuts himself off, pushing away from the locker with an outraged expression, “ _wait_ , you think you’re too good for my money?”

“Fuck yeah I’m too good for your money!”

“What the fuck is wrong with my money!”

“I don’t fucking want it!”

Craig watches the argument unfold like a tennis match and is inherently grateful when Tweek appears out of nowhere to tug him away; the blond doesn’t even deign to spare the bickering pair a glance. Tweek just sweeps past the group, neatly hooks an arm around Craig’s and leads him down the hallway, away from Kenny and Token. Their conversation has vastly descended into a screaming match of pride and ego, with all thoughts of a date on Friday night clearly slipping away.

Craig lets himself be dragged towards his literature class without a single argument.

Though, he does allow himself to be petty enough to throw Butters a venomous glare; what’s truly surprising is when Butters scowls back, blue eyes hard and sweet mouth snarling. It’s jarring to witness, and Craig finds himself questioning what _he_ fucking did to warrant such a reaction, like fuck you Butters, go suck Kenny’s dick yourself if you’re that fucking heated about it.

And then his mind actually provides him a mental image of that and _well_.

There goes his breakfast.

* * *

After spending twenty minutes with his face in the toilet and an extra ten minutes trying to convince Tweek that he’s not dying, he finds out that Token and _Kyle_ ended up getting into a fight.

Clyde rushes into the bathroom and excitedly tells him that Kyle had been _furious_ to hear what Token had said to Kenny and had leapt in to defend his friend, fists first. Which Token took as a challenge and an affront, so matched him blow-for-blow.

No one really knows who won the fight exactly, just that they both received detentions.

Any irritation Craig felt towards Kenny is snuffed out by a raging flame of guilt and regret.

Shit, Tweek had told him to just say _no_.

Not to be a total dick, fuck.

* * *

It’s supposed to be a quiet Sunday evening where Craig meditates with Tweek over FaceTime and prepares himself for another five days of high-definition bullshit, but then—

“Does your brother think he’s too good for Kenny?”

“I’m sorry, the better question is: does your brother see Craig as a fucking joke?”

Craig blinks, uncurls himself out of plough pose and tells Tweek to carry on without him; his friend has his eyes closed on the screen and merely waves Craig away as he continues to steadily count his breaths. He pulls a hoodie on to hide his yoga outfit from his family – the last time he had been caught in a pink crop-top and matching yoga pants, his dad had seriously asked his mom if she could get him a pair whilst Tricia asked if Craig was starting an OnlyFans account. Craig hadn’t appreciated either reaction so since then, he always goes the extra mile to just cover his _everything_ up.

He slips out of his room and—

“A joke? Are you kidding me, Tricia?”

“Do I look like I’m laughing Karen?”

Uh oh.

They _never_ use their given names; it’s always sickeningly sweet monikers or obnoxiously OTT titles of affection. Craig sidles down the stairs but pauses just out of sight; he frowns when he spies the two girls arguing on the doorstep. Karen’s face is scrunched up with frustration, swiping at her purple locks angrily as her cheeks begin to glow with heat. He can’t see Tricia’s face, but he’s pretty sure she has that sullen pout on her lips and her forehead has that line creasing it which she definitely inherited from their mom.

“Look, I get that my family has a reputation,” Karen continues, folding her arms, “I know we’re white-trash, laughably poor, stupid junkies, but—”

“Oh, don’t even dare use that self-pitying bullshit with me!” Tricia interrupts with a scoff, “no one cares that you and your family’s poor, Karen. Just tell your shitty brother to stop messing with Craig! His dumb feelings aren’t fucking ‘inspo’ for Kenny’s crappy pranks!”

“When has Kenny _ever_ dated someone as a joke?”

“Oh, please! There’s a first time for everything and besides, look at who he’s friends with! Is it really that unimaginable for him to just… manipulate Craig and turn him into a laughing-stock?”

“You have such little faith in Kenny! He wouldn’t do that to another person! It’s your brother who’s too much of a snob that he thinks he’s so fucking above dating Kenny! You’re not that much better than us, Tricia! You’re on welfare!”

“Fuck you Karen and your slutty brother!”

“He’s not a slut!”

“And Craig’s not a snob!”

Craig blinks and slowly ascends back up the stairs; he’s heard enough and honestly, he can feel a headache brewing in his mind. He returns to his room and flicks a glance at his laptop; on the screen, Tweek is now stretched out in the locust post. He sighs, throws off his hoodie and sits back on his yoga mat.

He wonders why Karen had sounded so heated and defensive of her brother; like, Kenny must’ve said something to her, something serious. Like, maybe the dude is genuine about taking him out. Maybe. Maybe he _wants_ to take Craig out, ‘cause he likes him and, and, like. What if—

“Dude, are you hyperventilating?” Tweek suddenly asks, his face mere inches from his camera as he peers worriedly at Craig.

“If Kenny asks me out again, I’ll say yes,” he announces, fiddling with a stray thread on his crop-top anxiously as he tries to regulate his breathing pattern, “would that be a stupid thing to do? Saying yes?”

“Clyde and Token would call you a dumb, _nngh_ , bitch,” Tweek replies, chewing on his lip as he settles back on his own mat, “Jimmy would tell you to do what’s right for you, but only, _gah_ , ‘cause he’s still doing that lame daddy-routine with you…”

“I’m not asking them, I’m asking you.”

“I think you’re a dumb bitch who should do what’s right for you,” Tweek says with a soft smirk, slipping the cord of his hoodie into his mouth to chew on it, “I know I said you should say no, but if you’re that serious, _ah_ , fuck it. But I also think you should be, _urgh_ , careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Craig snorts.

“Not with this kinda stuff,” Tweek says knowingly, “remember Thomas?”

Damn it, Tweek could be such a dick sometimes.

“Okay, but like,” Craig shrugs with a roll of his eyes, unable to hide the unhappy frown which tugs at his lips, “Thomas _had_ to leave town; it’s not like he wanted to break up with me, it was the only sensible option. Like, what kid can maintain a long-distance relationship?”

“True,” Tweek nods with a snort, “some of us can’t even do _short_ -distance.”

“I can’t tell who you’re trying to shade,” Craig narrows his eyes at Tweek who merely smiles serenely in return, “whatever, keep your secrets.” Tweek’s sweet smile twitches wider and the blond merely shifts to get more comfortable on his mat; they fall into an easy silence, with Tweek humming under his breath and Craig watching the smoke rise from the blond’s incense stick.

It’s a good silence, the _nice_ type of silence, where Craig doesn’t get that anxious itch under his skin that he’s boring his friends by being so quiet – it’s that kinda silence where you just get to enjoy being with another person and goddammit, why couldn’t he just crush on one of his friends like a normal gay dude?

Like, Tweek would make this shit so much easier if it had been him – or Clyde, Jimmy, Token, fuck, he’d even take fucking _Stan_ _Marsh_ over—

“You really like Kenny?” Tweek asks suddenly, drumming his fingers against his thighs.

Craig blinks, before he nods hesitantly, “he makes me laugh.” It’s a lame explanation for why he likes Kenny, but he can’t quite put his fascination with the blond into words, ‘cause it’s more than the smart wit, it’s more than the sweet generosity, or the admirable bravery, or the fact that Kenny is the hottest boy Craig’s ever laid eyes on since they all hit puberty. Kenny is just so… complicated and interesting and _good_ and a fucking dick and—

Tweek nods though, like he hears all that and _more_.

“Okay,” Tweek says, still nodding, “let him make you, _nngh_ , laugh.”

And Craig’s breath hitches, but then he finds himself nodding too.

* * *

Monday arrives far quicker than it has any business doing.

Craig skips out on breakfast, ‘cause he’s pretty sure the nerves and nausea will only leave him blowing chunks into Kenny’s face if he tries to talk to him, so he’d much rather do it on an empty stomach, rather than risk his vomit being fuelled by Lucky Charms.

He finds himself avoiding his friends as he ventures into school; if he’s gonna do this shit, then he needs to do it whilst determination still burns in his veins. He cannot get stalled right now and if he gets detoured by talking to his friends, then Craig knows that his bravery will desert him and his willingness to talk to Kenny will completely evaporate. Or some shit.

Whatever, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone but Kenny.

So, Craig stalks down the hallways, past lockers and drinking fountains and tittering clusters of teenaged girls. He finds himself being pulled towards Kenny’s locker – he’s never actually been to Kenny’s locker, but oddly enough, he kinda knows where it is.

Sure enough, Craig rounds a corner and finds him at the end of the hallway.

Kenny is putting some shit into a locker covered in stickers of NASCAR drivers and half-naked hotties; behind him, his friends are bitching at each other and oh shit, Craig had spent so much energy avoiding his friends that he forgot the potential possibility of encountering _Kenny’s_ friends.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He’s such a fucking idiot, he’s practically walking into a trap right now – he’ll saunter straight up to Kenny and apologise for his shitty behaviour, convince the blond to ask him out and _bam_! Cartman will eat that shit up, will probably record the whole sorry saga and humiliate him for falling for the town’s kindest, trashiest, hottest—

Craig blinks when Kenny closes his locker, finally revealing his face. He looks… exhausted. There’s a sharp pang in Craig’s heart as he takes in just how drained the blond appears. His skin has always been pale, but now there’s a sallow tinge to it which just screams _unhealthy_! His cheekbones are sharper, his hair is messier with oil and tangles, there are dark bags under his eyes and without even realising it, Craig’s made his way down the hall, concern flooding his veins with every piercing beat of his heart.

“Hey,” Craig greets awkwardly, inwardly wincing when Kyle rounds on him with his eyes burning with indignant rage. Kenny’s head snaps up, lilac-blue eyes widening with surprise and something unreadable which leaves Craig’s mouth comfortably dry.

“What the fuck do _you_ want?” Kyle asks, narrowing his green eyes as he pointedly stands in front of Kenny, arms folded, and lips curled back in a slight snarl.

“To talk to Kenny,” Craig says shortly, ‘cause he’s grown up with these fuckers and they don’t physically scare him, “obviously.”

“Don’t you think you’ve said enough?” Stan asks, joining Kyle in their remake of The Bodyguard, featuring one hot blond and two dickhead idiots.

Craig just blinks at them and shakes his head. “Whatever,” he drawls, then looks past them to peer at Kenny, “listen, I’m sorry about what Token said.”

“Shouldn’t Token be the one to apologise?” Kenny says, cocking his head as a light grin plays on his lips. The blond is clearly delighted with how things are unfolding before him and Craig’s slightly irritated at how endearing he finds Kenny to be.

“Yeah, he’s kinda busy trying to think of a way to say sorry without it coming across as condescending as fuck,” Craig explains, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“He could just… _say_ it to me?” Kenny furrows his brows, more bemused than anything else.

“Duly noted, I’ll let him know.”

“Cool,” Kenny says, his smile faltering when Craig falls silent once more. Kyle and Stan merely trade a look and Cartman, who has been quiet so far, merely utters something dark and foreboding under his breath. Shit, Craig should’ve just gone to the fucker’s house; he shouldn’t have done this at school with a fucking audience of all things, “so… if that’s all, then—”

“Ask me again,” Craig cuts him off, partly desperate, mostly hysterical.

There’s a beat of silence where Kenny’s friends just stare at him like he’s lost his goddamn mind.

“What?” Kenny utters out weakly, a strained smile on his lips.

“Like, fuck,” Craig rolls his eyes as nerves prickle at the nape of his neck, “ask me out again, dickhead.”

“Dude, why don’t _you_ ask out _Kenny_?” Stan asks, wrinkling his nose.

“‘Cause fuck you, Stan, that’s why,” Craig responds, not even bothering to look at the prick.

There’s another beat of silence and at this point, Craig wonders if he truly _has_ lost his goddamn mind.

“Holy shit,” Stan pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs wearily, “Kenny, I’m done. This isn’t worth it, I’ve tried, buddy, I really have. I support you, I love you, all that gay shit, but I’m done.”

“Stan’s got a point,” Kyle adds, gazing at Craig with a hint of discomfort in his eyes, “maybe you should just drop this shit. Besides, _look_ at him. You would eat him alive!”

“I’d make him choke on me first,” Craig snipes, ‘cause he might be losing his mind, but he’s still got his fucking pride.

“I don’t mind choking on you!” Kenny quips, his expression faltering as he takes in Craig’s severe glare, “I don’t… are you just doing this ‘cause Token was mean to me?”

“No,” Craig says, but he knows Kenny doesn’t believe him, nor do Kenny’s friends. They all share a look of annoyance and Cartman mutters darkly under his breath, before he elbows his way in front of Kenny, protective and bullying all at once.

“Listen fucker,” Cartman says, his mismatched eyes gleaming, “you don’t get to just mess Kenny around for fucking weeks and expect him to just—”

“You are the last good thing about this part of town,” Kenny interjects impishly, causing everyone around him to blink stupidly at the non-sequitur. Oddly, Craig feels something like déjà vu sweep throughout him as he registers Kenny’s words, and he has to duck his head to hide the flush creeping up his neck. Quoting Fall Out Boy, at a time like this?

Seriously?

“Clyde, right?” Craig asks, gazing up at the blond with an arched brow.

“Jimmy,” Kenny reveals, “he’s the only one who’ll talk to me at this point, but good to know that Clyde’s got some tips too,” Kenny throws in a saucy wink which has Craig stifling a snort.

“Fucking simp,” Cartman mutters, glowering at Kenny when the blond pushes past him to saunter up to Craig.

“So, date on Friday?” Kenny asks, cocking his head. Craig feels his flush grow hotter, especially when he spies Kenny’s lilac-eyes track the blush down his neck.

“I’m the last good thing about this _whole_ stupid town,” he corrects wryly, before he finally lifts his head and nods, “but yes, Kenny, I’ll go on a stupid date with you on Friday.”

* * *

The rest of the day goes in a blur.

Kenny’s friends continue to glare at him and Cartman spits out some kinda threat which sounds like more of a promise than a warning, with Butters cheerfully reminding him of just how strong a ballet dancer’s arms can be, but honestly it doesn’t bother Craig. Getting shovel talks is the least of his problems now that he’s actually agreed to go out with Kenny McCormick.

His friends reassure them that if it does end in a prank, then at least they have several contingency plans to murder the guy and get away with it, as well as his friends in case they get any fucked up ideas regarding revenge – it soothes Craig’s nerves somewhat, but not completely.

Like, he’s going on a date with Kenny.

He’s finally going on a fucking date with fucking Kenny.

He kinda wants to do something dumb, like skip school to go and gush about Friday night with Stripe. He kinda wants to go and get a mani-pedi with his mom or buy a new outfit with Tricia. But then, does he really want to get all dolled-up for what will most likely be a heartless trick?

If it _is_ a heartless trick, that is.

‘Cause it might be genuine. Kenny seemed genuine. His friends seemed pretty honest about how pissed off they were and surely, they’d be super fucking eager and excited at finally getting Craig to cave if it all _was_ a prank… but _fuck_.

The logic in Craig’s brain can’t quite battle the fear in Craig’s heart.

Nor can it smother the odd feeling of déjà vu. Like, he _feels_ , on some level, that he’s experienced this shit before, that this has happened before.

‘Cause like, Kenny quoting Fall Out Boy has Craig _feeling_ some kinda way; he doesn’t know when he became so paranoid about life, but his nape prickles as his mind churns with the thought that _something_ bad is going to happen to him. It’s a horrible sensation and it’s got its own soundtrack of Fall Out Boy’s Just One Yesterday: _I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way_ , Craig’s mind sings at him, which does nothing to stave off the feelings of déjà vu.

Goddammit.

Friday is too fucking soon and it’s coming at him too fucking fast.

* * *

Craig’s only 65% sure that Kenny’s dragged him out to the middle of the woods to kill him.

It sucks, but at least he’ll go out in style – the moment he had returned home from school, Craig had holed himself up in his room, only leaving to shower before his date. He had tried outfit after outfit, getting feedback from his friends as well as Tricia, when he had invaded her room in search of her flat iron. He had managed to slip into his skinniest jeans, pulled on a knock-off Gucci shirt and laced up a pair of black boots; Stripe had squeaked in approval, with Jimmy once again asserting the fact that he would quite happily eat Craig out.

Then Kenny had picked him up in his beat-up truck, wielding a bouquet of roses like a weapon and a smile twice as dangerous as the gleam in his eyes. His dad put up a front as his mom cooed over Kenny’s charming compliments and before Craig could even blink or protest, the blond had whisked him away to their date.

The drive had been silent, with Hollywood Undead serving as the soundtrack to Craig’s nerves.

Now, he’s being lead through the woods and Craig’s distantly wondered why he’s never worried about being murdered by Kenny. Like, yeah sure, getting humiliated is one thing, but maybe he ought to have been concerned about Kenny’s more nefarious motives.

“You okay babe?” Kenny pipes up, breaking the taut silence with ruthless volume.

“Am I gonna die in these shitty woods?” Craig asks bluntly because he can’t remember if he left enough food for Stripe and he can’t quite remember the last thing he said to Clyde and these are important things that will help him rest if he’s going to literally fucking die tonight.

Kenny just blinks at him, all blank and cute and shit.

“Uh, I hope not?” he says, furrowing his brows before a crooked smile quirks his lips upwards, “you scared Craig? You don’t need to worry about that shit – I’ll protect you.”

“My hero,” Craig responds dryly, tearing his gaze away from that stupidly pretty grin.

“You know it,” Kenny shoots back, and for the first time that night, Craig wonders if Kenny feels the same restless energy as he; if perhaps, Kenny’s silence had been borne out of nerves and apprehension, instead of something more dastardly.

Goddammit, Tweek’s paranoia is contagious as shit.

They wander deeper into the woods; it’s a surprisingly pretty evening, with a clear sky full of stars. Craig wonders if Kenny would appreciate a short lesson in astronomy, if he’d be interested in knowing that the constellation Cassiopeia hangs just above them, and that Craig’s bedroom ceiling is covered in scientifically accurate representations of the Northern hemisphere at night.

Well.

Kenny would definitely be interested in hearing more about Craig’s bedroom – just not the ceiling.

“So, where are we going?” he asks, because if Kenny’s nervous then Craig is downright hysterical; the silence is dragging and he knows Kenny doesn’t talk much, but fuck. This is _supposed_ to be a fucking date, Christ.

“Patience baby,” Kenny croons, sounding more like the blond everyone at school talks about, “we’re almost…” he trails off as he perks up, whole body jerking as he bounds through a cluster of shrubbery, “oh wait, here we are!”

Craig sighs and follows him through the bushes, taking care to avoid the overgrown roots and sharp thorns. Well, here it is, his final resting place – shit, he hopes someone finds his body before he gets too fucking decomposed. Craig doesn’t consider himself to be completely vain, but he definitely doesn’t want his mom to see him all gross and rotted and shit.

He absently wonders what his final words should be, but then he questions _why_ he’s so ready to give up life without a fight. Like, yeah, Kenny is cute, but Jesus, Craig shouldn’t be this resigned about death? Should he? Is it normal, to just not give a fuck about dying?

Craig wets his lips as he considers asking about Kenny’s intentions when he finally sees what the blond has in store for him—

“The fuck?” he utters, eyes growing wide with actual fucking wonder.

“Hope you, uh, like midnight picnics?” Kenny says sheepishly, gesturing to the scene before them. Craig blinks at the rug on the ground; it’s covered in pillows and blankets, with shitty candles placed on all four corners of the picnic spread. With his heart beating furiously in his chest, Craig pads towards the picnic and feels himself sink further into the murky depths of infatuation.

On the rug are messily made sandwiches and dented cans of Pringles. There’s unopened sweets and cakes, juices boxes and cans of Diet Sprite, and delicately placed in the centre is a plate with chocolate-dipped strawberries piled high atop it. Craig swallows around the lump in his throat, ‘cause Kenny’s clearly gone to a lot of effort for this date, like.

Chocolate-dipped strawberries?

Fucking cheap-ass candles?

Blankets?

Who does this shit?

“This is, uh,” he begins awkwardly, “nice.”

It’s poor praise, like, it’s the worst thing anyone has ever said to anyone who’s done something impossibly sweet for them, but Kenny still beams like Craig’s offered him a compliment of the highest order.

“I’m glad you like it,” Kenny says warmly, his fingers fiddling with the fur around his hood as he gazes into Craig’s eyes. Heat creeps up the back of his neck and Craig has to look away before he does something stupid like _blush_.

He pads towards the picnic, eyes slowly drifting over the food, the drinks, the candles; it’s like, a total fucking rom-com moment and Clyde will just about _die_ when he hears about this shit. Behind him, Kenny coughs pointedly and he realises that he’s just been stood in silence, staring at the spread like a fucking dickhead deer in headlights.

“Sorry, I just— I’m kinda surprised,” he admits as he gingerly sits down on the rug, pulling his legs against his chest tightly, “didn’t think romantic shit like this was your style – kinda expected more dildoes and handcuffs than strawberries and soda.”

Kenny snorts and throws himself on the rug next to Craig, legs spread out as he leans on his back, elbows propping him up. He looks so good under the starry sky, with the flickering flames of the candles lighting his features up attractively. Craig is so fucking gay, and he cannot believe he’s ever tried to deny that fact.

“Ah, I don’t put out ‘til the third date,” Kenny grins, reaching out to pop open a can of soda; he patiently waits for Craig to open his own and they toast silently before taking grossly loud sips of Sprite. It’s warm and kinda flat, but Craig honestly doesn’t give a shit.

This is the nicest fucking thing anyone has ever done for him, holy fuck.

His friends have gotta up their game, ‘cause Kenny’s just risen the bar by several fucking feet.

“Really?” Craig asks quietly, ‘cause he knows Kenny has a reputation, but he’s not close enough to the guy, doesn’t know enough about him, doesn’t have the ability to discern fact from fiction.

“Well. Mostly,” Kenny grins, but his smile is wide and full of bullshit; the blond shrugs awkwardly as he places his can down to pick up a shitty cheese sandwich, tearing into it messily, “fuck, come on dude, give me some credit – you finally said yes, why wouldn’t I pull some gushy shit outta my ass as a way of thanks?”

It’s a testament to how gay Craig really is that Kenny can say all that shit with a full mouth and yet he’s still somehow the hottest guy in South Park.

Christ.

“Dunno – why don’t you tell me why you were so fucking persistent?” Craig asks, tearing the crust away from a crookedly sliced ham sandwich to nibble at it; it’s got way too much butter and not enough mustard, but the thought of Kenny actually making these for him has him feeling some kinda way, “I’m talking about you asking me out.”

“Yeah, I just—” Kenny cuts himself off and sighs, “I just like you. And I’ve wanted to take you out since, oh shit. Since. Uh. Remember that time I came to pick up Karen from your house? And she was freaking out over a nightmare she had and you… you just held her and started talking shit about Star Wars and she had no idea what you were talking about, but it worked. You were stroking her hair and telling her all about Porgs and how they were clearly derived from guinea pigs and I just… I don’t know. I liked that you did that for her.”

‘Cause the way to Kenny’s heart is through his sister, anyone with half a brain knows that.

But.

Craig, in that moment, just cared about making Karen feel better, ‘cause he _likes_ her. She’s sweet and sassy and makes Tricia a bearable human to interact with. And he has a soft spot for small, cute things and you can’t really get smaller or cuter than Karen McCormick. Well, except maybe Stripe, but he’s just biased.

He licks his lips nervously, chewing slowly on his sandwich as he digests Kenny’s words. He likes him; Kenny _likes_ him and the whole story gave about Karen doesn’t _seem_ like bullshit. He swallows down the last of his sandwich and reconsiders his whole stance on being a cold bitch to the boy he likes.

“What about you?” Kenny suddenly asks, his tone light despite his eyes glinting curiously.

“What about me, what?” Craig throws back at him, smiling shrewdly when Kenny rolls his eyes impatiently. The blond reaches over and pokes him in the face with a sticky finger.

“What made you give in?” he asks, before he perks up excitedly, “ _no_ , better question! When did you realise you had the hots for me?”

“Bold of you to assume I have the hots for you.”

“Come on baby, give me _something_.”

Craig huffs out a dry laugh as Kenny gives him a fucking terrible rendition of puppy-eyes, all big and battering and beautiful. The sight ignites a fire within Craig’s gut, has him wanting to be honest to this cute boy whilst they’re eating this adorable picnic underneath a clear, wintery sky. God, it’s sickeningly romantic and Clyde’s gonna have a field day when Craig tells him about this shit.

“Remember when we did that project with shooting animals close-up with a wide-angle lens?” he says, thinking that if Kenny really wants something, then Craig will give him this.

“Oh shit, yeah,” Kenny snickers, his eyes darting away with a mischievous glint shining brightly in them, “man, that was fun. Cartman was totally pissed off that I ditched his weak-ass news show to hook up with you and those cute critters.”

Craig bites back a smirk at Kenny’s choice of words, but it does nothing to stifle the rush of warmth which flows through his body. “Yeah? Guess I should’ve known back then that stealing his best friend was a sure-fire way of igniting his little fuse.”

“Man, dude’s got the _smallest_ fuse.”

“Like, you’d need a microscope to find it.”

“And even then, you’d be hard-pressed not to mistake it for a—” Kenny cuts off with a wince, shaking his hair slightly as his lips turn downwards unhappily, “shit, sorry – gotta, uh, cramp.”

Craig arches a brow and is unsurprised to feel heavy, dark suspicion brewing in his gut. Kenny doesn’t give him a chance to explore why he suddenly feels on edge, as the blond slings an arm around his shoulders and tucks Craig in close against his long, bony body.

“So, is this you _stealing_ me away, huh?” Kenny purrs, running a hand through his hair with a tight smile.

Craig rolls his eyes and pushes him away, “yeah well, it’s fun to piss Cartman off.” Kenny’s tight smile softens slightly, his eyes glimmering under the dark, starry sky, “anyway – back to our amateur venture into cinematography—”

“God, I love it when you use long words—”

“—down boy,” Craig says wryly, nudging Kenny pointedly, “I, uh, I liked filming shit with you. You didn’t annoy me with stupid questions like Clyde did. You didn’t try and take over, like Token. You just let me do my thing and it was pretty chill.”

Kenny’s face finally loses the last threads of the tension as a sweet smile melts onto his lips.

“The whole project was pretty chill,” the blond says, before his lips twitch slyly, “well, until it got cancelled and Mr Meryl sent you off to get fucking,” he scissored his fingers in a crude gesture, “snipped and shit.” Craig purses his lips sullenly when Kenny perks up, eyes wide as they slowly scan down the brunet’s body, “I’ve always wondered – did that actually happen?”

Craig narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to open; there’s a rustling noise behind Kenny coming from the bushes, but then Kenny sits up straighter to block his vision. He puts the noise down to the breeze as he finds himself hypnotised by the naughty glimmer in the blond’s eyes. Craig’s eyes fall down to Kenny’s crooked, dimpled smile before they land upon that long, unblemished neck. His throat flutters with a flickering pulse and Craig wonders if Kenny’s nerves will finally break through his smooth façade.

Then he has to wonder _why_ Kenny feels nervous in the first place… but he supposes any boy would get anxious on the date they finally score after weeks of begging.

Instead, he shakes his head free of any suspicion and chooses to answer Kenny’s question.

“Do you honestly think my mom, Laura fucking Tucker, would let anyone near my ten-year-old balls?” Craig asks with a sharp little grin, ‘cause his mom might be infamous for many terrible reasons, but one of the better ones is her fiercely protective nature towards her children.

It’s a blessing and a curse.

Kenny hums and nods slowly, “I don’t know – I think you make for a pretty biased source, might need to conduct a first-hand inspection to, uh, validate the evidence.”

Craig snorts unattractively, “Jesus Christ, was that in Kyle’s Word-of-the-Day calendar too?”

Kenny shrugs, ducking his head as a pink hue dusts over his cheeks, “nah, he was just my partner in physics and I picked up a few things.”

Craig emits another ugly burst of laughter, but it does nothing to deter Kenny’s attraction; if anything, the blond seems to melt at the sound.

“Well,” he utters, tilting his head, “I don’t know if anyone told you this, but I don’t put out on the first date – I’m not that kinda boy.”

“Who says anything about putting out, I just wanna look,” Kenny grins.

“Somehow I doubt you’re the kinda guy who’d be satisfied by just a look,” Craig says wryly.

Kenny hums, nodding as he concedes Craig’s point; then he kicks softly at Craig’s ankle and picks up a strawberry, twirling it between his fingers teasingly.

“So, you were telling me about when you first liked me…” he prods gently, nibbling at the strawberry with sharp, crooked teeth. Craig has to drag his eyes away from the sight, has to curl his fingers into tight little fists to avoid the urge to swipe away the smudge of chocolate clinging to Kenny’s lips.

“Yeah, I guess I was,” Craig says quietly, his heart fluttering in his chest once more as he tries to force the words out of his throat. “So, animals and recording them… you were, I don’t know. Chill and nice. Good to Tricia. Didn’t piss me off and just, I don’t know. Stripe peed on you and all you did was kiss her nose like it was the cutest shit.” Craig sighs and rubs at his eyes tiredly, “I’m not making any sense, but—”

“No, I think I get it,” Kenny interjects, smile soft and open. Craig reels from the wanton desire which bubbles with him, ‘cause he sees that smile and he just wants to _kiss_ it. Kenny honestly looks as if he truly understands _why_ Craig fell for him all those years ago, why he became so endeared towards the scruffy blond with a beautiful heart and he—

Goddammit.

At the risk of sounding like a broken fucking parrot, but he _likes_ Kenny so fucking much.

“Yeah? Yeah. I think I decided there and then that your friends were shitty assholes, but you weren’t so bad—” Craig cuts himself off, his words dying a death in his lungs as his ears prick up. The bushes rustle again and this time, he knows it isn’t due to the fucking breeze. Mainly because there _isn’t_ a fucking breeze.

The curdling suspicion in Craig’s gut flows over into his heart which beats a heavy thud as he rises to his feet; Kenny is quick to jump up, face tight with desperate curiosity and fear.

“What’s wrong?” the blond asks, tugging on Craig’s sleeve as his eyes flash with panic, “dude, you okay?” Craig brushes Kenny off and stalks towards the bushes which cease rustling… but start _whispering_ , “oh, Craig. Wait, don’t—” Kenny is silenced by a single cold glare, shutting up with a barely audible whimper as he freezes in place; Craig watches as his body becomes a single line of quivering tension, lilac eyes dark with pain and he knows, he fucking _knows_ that he ought to have known better than to trust this bastard boy.

With a scowl, Craig closes the distance between the picnic and the bushes, reaching out with unwavering hands to wrench the bushes apart. Pain blossoms in his throat, his eyes, his heart as he takes in the sight before him.

There’s a single, awful, terribly long beat of silence that echoes loudly in the silent clearing.

“What the fuck,” he finally utters, taking in the sight of Kenny’s stupid fucking friends; Stan and Butters have the decency to look ashamed, whereas Kyle simply looks embarrassed and Cartman looks irritated. That being said, they all look suitably contrite when Craig stiffens up and schools his features into icy neutrality. He refuses to let them see how hurt he feels, how angry they’ve made him – won’t give them the pleasure of inciting a reaction out of him.

Of course.

Of _fucking_ course.

Cartman’s wearing a headset with a microphone and an earpiece. Craig’s entire world narrows in on that sight and he turns on his heel to throw Kenny a stony glare. He stiffly stalks towards the blond who’s still frozen with apprehensive fear – he reaches over and has to swallow down a wounded wince when Kenny instinctively flinches. Fuck, he’s not gonna punch the guy, he doesn’t think he could punch Kenny, no matter how pissed he is. And he _is_ pretty fucking pissed, ‘cause sure enough, Craig reaches over to brush back Kenny’s hair and there – an earpiece nestled in his ear. He sighs, _hates_ himself for getting fucking duped, for getting himself into this mess, for ignoring all the signs and all the warnings and—

“Oh, hey Craig,” Cartman waves at him with an ugly grin.

—and he just feels _exhausted_.

“Okay,” he says, mostly to himself as he snatches his hand back. He ignores Kenny’s upset look and tells himself that the asshole must feel so shitty ‘cause he got _caught_ , so well, fuck him, “I’m done.”

And he walks away.

Cartman insults him as he leaves the woods, Kyle insults Cartman for not reading the room, Stan and Butters instantly coo and croon over Kenny and Kenny… well, Kenny stays _silent_.

And Craig walks away.

* * *

Craig finds himself at Clyde’s house.

He absently wonders if there’s a reason why he hasn’t gone to his own – maybe he doesn’t want to face Tricia and cause her more shit with Karen. Maybe he doesn’t want to see his mom’s face, full of pity, or hear how his dad wants to break Kenny’s legs for hurting his ‘baby’. Maybe he can’t cope with the idea of just going to his room, alone in the silence, with only Stripe for comfort.

Sometimes, Stripe is the only comfort he needs.

“Dude?” Clyde prompts as he opens his door, “what?”

Stripe isn’t enough right now though; instead of answering, Craig drifts into Clyde’s arms and sinks into his softness. Craig might be taller, but Clyde is broader and manages to wrap his entire being around Craig in a manner that has him feeling endlessly safe. It’s just… the damage has already been done and his heart is broken, and he _hurts_.

“So, uh, the date went well?” Clyde asks awkwardly, patting Craig’s back gently.

Craig opens his mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a choked-off croak of pain. Clyde releases a mournful sound as he tightens his grip, before he forcibly steps back and peers deep into Craig’s eyes. He’s never seen his friend look so _serious_ before and Craig would comment on the oddness of the situation but, well.

He’s a bit busy licking his raw, open wounds.

“Craig?”

“He,” Craig began, but his voice is strained and thick; he has to cough a couple of times to clear his throat of the thick lump growing within it, “the fucker _got_ me.” God, does it hurt to say out loud, to admit that shit and make it _real_ , “he… the asshole took me to the woods, had a whole picnic waiting with like, fancy shit. Chocolate strawberries, Token would’ve had a boner over it. I almost got a boner over it. Thought it was stupid and cute.”

“Go on,” Clyde nudges softly and Craig just about _breaks_.

“His friends, they were like, _there_. Cartman, fucking _Butters_ — just watching and listening as I made a fucking fool out of myself. God, it’s so embarrassing remembering the shit I said… fuck. They must’ve found it _so_ funny.” A swarm of affection ripples over him when he sees Clyde’s expression of pure outrage and feels slightly vindicated when he realises that his best friend is super pissed on his behalf.

“Wait, I thought it wasn’t a joke!” Clyde snaps.

“So did I… but then, I don’t know,” Craig shrugs unhappily as his mind streams through his memories of the past few hours, “we were just shooting the shit, then I heard… something off and got suspicious.” Goddammit, he couldn’t help but replay every little detail of their date, his mind souring as it picked up the red flags and signs of ulterior fucking bullshit taking place, “I went to investigate and there they were, hiding like the dumbass pieces of shit they are. Probably filmed it, or live-streamed it, or whatever. Like, fuck going to school on Monday, right?”

“Hey, if anyone gives you shit, you know we’ll fuck them up, right?” Clyde says, which is true. Craig’s friends are the best and yeah, some might see them as co-dependent as fuck, but they’re _his_ and he wouldn’t trade them for anyone else.

“Yeah,” he breathes quietly, “I know.”

“Sad Boy Hours?” Clyde suggests, nudging against Craig affectionately.

“I promise not to play any Ben Howard,” he says, a ghost of a crooked smile on his lips.

“I will let you play _one_ Ben Howard song,” Clyde says, holding up a finger, “ _if_ you promise no Warmer.”

“What about Daughter?” Craig cocks his head.

“Oh shit, yeah,” Clyde grins, “I can vibe to that.”

“Cool.”

The wisp of joy from his conversation with Clyde quickly evaporates when he remembers _why_ he’s come over to Clyde’s house and _why_ they’re ten minutes away from chilling in Clyde’s bedroom with a melancholic-ass soundtrack keeping them company.

Clyde clearly becomes aware of the change in Craig’s mood as he steps impossibly closer and throws an arm around the brunet’s shoulders.

“Dude, you sure you’re okay?” he asks, his brows creasing together.

Craig opens his mouth to answer, but frustration steals away his composure and his ability to just control his fucking emotions. He tries to answer Clyde in a manner that won’t worry his friend, but he supposes Clyde is already worried, so why not just be fucking honest?

“Why can’t he just… _like_ me?” he asks, looking down at his hands as his voice quivers deep in his throat, “like, why do I have to be a fucking joke?”

“You’re not a joke to me,” Clyde says before he quickly darts across the space between them to place a wet kiss on Craig’s cheek. Craig blinks and snorts, shoving Clyde’s face away roughly as he wipes at his cheek.

“Gay,” he chuckles, feeling endlessly fond for his best friend; god, it’s such pure homophobia that Clyde is fucking straight and honestly, Craig feels personally attacked that it wasn’t his best friend getting drawn in all those pictures with him.

At least they could’ve had _fun_ with this shitshow.

“Only for you,” Clyde croons before he swoops in to kiss Craig’s other cheek, laughing as he avoids Craig’s flailing fists; his joy only lasts for a mere moment, as solemnity flickers across his face as he really _looks_ at Craig’s wounded expression, “hey, listen. I… kinda talked to Bebe about Kenny.” He looks slightly sheepish, but Craig’s too tired to feel anything but pure exhaustion, so he gestures for Clyde to continue, “she said that he’s super serious about you, but like. If he hurt you, she wouldn’t mind cutting his dick off for you to keep.”

Craig blinks and wonders when Kenny and Bebe had gotten close enough to trade gossip and secrets with each other. He wrinkles his nose, ‘cause wow, if this is Kenny’s idea of being ‘super serious’, then he’d hate to see what the blond would’ve done if he had openly declared Craig a fucking joke.

“Why would I want his dick?” he asks, choosing to repress his distress in favour of digressing the conversation.

“I don’t know dude,” Clyde shrugs with a snort; his eyes are soft though, as they tend to be whenever Bebe comes up in conversation, “she said something about not needing a body to go with the fun?”

“She’s so gross,” Craig declares, though he’s flattered by her threat on his behalf.

“I know,” Clyde gushes and Craig only feels _partially_ jealous, “I love her.”

“ _You’re_ so gross.”

“I know, but you love me.”

“Oh god, now _I’m_ gross.”

Clyde snorts and pokes him in the face again, “dude, I could’ve told you that.”

* * *

The next week passes slowly, like he’s swimming through treacle or drowning in syrup.

Craig doesn’t see Kenny; he gets punched by Stan, swings a fist back and gets detention for the next five days. He’s not even bothered, doesn’t even get fazed when his mom berates him for getting into fights at school; he just attends the detentions and pretends that Stan Marsh isn’t trying to eviscerate him via his glares.

His friends don’t talk about _it_ , but he can see that they’re thinking about _it_.

Friday becomes another landmine no one is willing to step on.

Craig doesn’t see Kenny once.

* * *

Karen and Tricia apparently make up at some point.

“Do you really like my brother?” Karen asks one day, trapping him in the kitchen when Tricia is out of earshot. He eyes her neutrally, but she looks so openly earnest and disarmingly non-judgemental that the truth spills from his lips before he has a chance to swallow it back.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “fuck knows why.”

Karen nods.

“Good to know,” she murmurs to herself, slipping out of the room without another word to return to her maybe-girlfriend upstairs.

Craig watches her leave and shudders – lesbians, in his honest opinion, are fucking terrifying.

* * *

Then he _does_ see Kenny.

It’s been a week since their car crash of a date and he finally sees Kenny McCormick outside South Park Elementary. He must be picking up Karen as Craig picks up Tricia – he’s stood at the gate with Kyle by his side and fuck, he looks exhausted. Guilt plucks at Craig’s heart, but he has to stamp that shit down ‘cause he wasn’t the one playing around here, goddammit.

His thoughts must be extra loud or some shit, ‘cause then Kenny looks up and their eyes _meet_.

Kenny stares at him like he’s some kinda unsolvable puzzle, eyes all creased and narrow, lips turned downward unhappily; Kyle throws Craig an arched look, before he pulls Kenny back to him, mouth running a mile a minute. He wonders what Kyle is saying, wonders if the asshole is telling Kenny that their plan worked, stop wasting time messing with South Park’s resident gay idiot, let’s move on to the next sucker.

Fucking prick.

Craig feels compelled to storm over and give the gossiping fuckers a piece of his mind, but then Tricia comes out, loudly bitching about some science experiment gone wrong and he completely forgets about seeing Kenny and Kyle.

Sorta.

* * *

Then it’s Sunday again.

And Craig’s weekly yoga session with Tweek is sharply interrupted by his mom informing him that he has a visitor – he doesn’t really question why she hasn’t let his guest in, considering he’s grounded for punching Stan in the fucking face, but it is odd that she hasn’t told him _who_ his guest is.

Until he stalks downstairs, unzipped hoodie wrapped around his yoga outfit.

Until he reaches the door and feels the blood drain from his face.

Until he sees Kenny fuckin’ McCormick waiting on his doorstep with a fierce look on his face.

Craig swallows and wraps his arms around himself, schooling his expression into something hard and untouchable before Kenny has another chance of breaking him. He narrows his gaze into a suspicious glare and leans against the doorframe, arching a brow at the blond boy before him.

He’s acutely aware that his family is spying from the kitchen, but at this point, he’s pretty used to people watching him and Kenny. It’s no longer embarrassing, no longer makes him feel violated and on edge – rather, he’s just _tired_.

Fuck, he’s so, so, so tired. 

“What the fuck do you want McCormick?” he asks, trying hard to sound bored and not at all like the wounded boy feels inside. Goddammit, Kenny looks so good right now; Craig thinks this is what Kenny looks like under Mysterion’s cowl, all deadly determination and dangerous intensity.

“We need to talk,” Kenny responds, tone clipped and short, “‘cause I’ve been going about this all wrong and I never realised it until Friday night.”

Craig has no fucking clue where this is going, but fuck it, yoga with Tweek can wait, “until Friday night? Took you a fucking while.”

Kenny’s brow creases together with threads of frustration and pain, but it suddenly smoothens out as he straightens up with a decisive nod.

“Yeah, I know, I’m a fucking dumbass,” he concedes with his hands up, “but I can make it right, you gotta—” he loses steam here, body deflating under a restless energy which renders him incapable of standing still; Craig watches as all that Mysterion-confidence leaks out of Kenny, leaving behind someone who looks like they could collapse under all the stress weighing on their shoulders, “you have to understand, you _need_ to understand— shit, Craig, what happened the other night… it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Really?” Craig asks flatly, kicking himself when something like _hope_ flickers in his heart.

“The guys,” Kenny says, running a hand through his hair nervously, “they were helping me. Like, don’t you think that whole-ass picnic just screamed _Cartman_? I mean, dude, there were fucking strawberries and shit! He wanted to throw in some gay-ass music, like you’re the type of guy who wants to be fucking serenaded.” They both pause to snort derisively at Cartman’s bullshit antics; the humour doesn’t last as Kenny’s mirth evaporates under a wave of severity, “you think I have the money for fucking strawberries? And I didn’t know what to say to you ‘cause it’s never— I’ve never— this is weirdly new for me, okay dude?”

“The strawberries did throw me for a second,” Craig admits, before he gestures for Kenny to continue, ‘cause like. Kenny’s dated girls and guys before, so Craig’s not sure why this whole _whatever the fuck this is_ , is new for him.

“I promise dude, they weren’t there to record shit, they were just… I don’t know, coaching me? Making sure I didn’t mess shit up?” Kenny sighs and deflates, his gaze skittering down the street as he wraps his arms around his body. “But then I did that anyway, so they weren’t exactly _great_ help.”

“When have they ever been great help?” Craig wrinkles his nose as memories of Peru flitter through his mind.

“Point,” Kenny concedes with a wry grin.

“I _always_ have the point,” Craig says before he throws a dry glare over his shoulder at the sound of Tricia snorting; he hears his dad shushing her before his mom apparently makes the decision to just give him some goddamn privacy by ushering them upstairs and away from Craig’s fucking life, “listen dude, why did you _need_ their help?”

Kenny snorts, slightly shy, mostly self-conscious, “come on, it took me this long to get a date with you – I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

Craig bites his lip; it’s the only sign of nerves that he allows Kenny to see and he winces when he tears the skin off accidentally. Copper blossoms on his tongue and he laps at the wound absently, his eyes zeroing in on Kenny’s intense gaze – that delicate shade of lilac darkens to a mesmerising violet and Craig feels his cheeks prickle hotly.

He wants to _believe_ Kenny – can feel himself teetering on the edge, but he just needs a little more _persuading_ , just needs to test the waters that tad bit more before he allows himself to become that vulnerable. Absently, he can hear a voice which sounds just like Token, berating him for being so prickly and defensive; he can barely hear that voice though, ‘cause there’s another, _louder_ , one telling him that he’s gonna die all alone if he keeps the asshole-schtick up.

The voice sounds a lot like Tweek.

“You know,” he begins, subconsciously licking his lip again, “some dicks in school would say that… you’ve been wasting your time, getting me to go out with you—”

“Those dicks can go fuck themselves,” Kenny interjects sharply.

“—so why? Why take so long to ask me the fuck out?” Craig asks, frustration bleeding into his tone as weeks and weeks of repressing utter bullshit causes his carefully constructed mask to crack, “what are you even doing here? There’s no audience at my fucking house Kenny, you can drop this shit, okay? Joke’s been had, it was pretty funny – that’s a lie, it was lame as shit – now fuck off.”

“What audience? What joke? Dude, what the fuck—” Kenny begins, and the confusion on his face just serves to upset Craig even more, god, he’s fucking _upset_ now, this is so fucking lame.

“Every time you asked me out, you had a fucking peanut gallery gathered to watch me make an ass of myself, what the fuck do you think I’m talking about?”

“Peanut galle— _dude_! Goddammit, Kyle was right – I do suck at this shit. Listen, they weren’t watching you make an ass outta yourself, they were watching _me_ be the fucking ass!” Kenny corrects, throwing his arms open wide, “it’s called moral fucking support, although in South Park, the morality’s a bit fucking shaky at best.” He pauses and snorts, “so’s the support.”

“They were watching you,” Craig echoes flatly.

“Yes! It’s not a fucking secret that I want to take you out,” Kenny says, his voice breaking with a self-depreciative chuckle, “the whole school was on my ass and taking bets about how long it would take for you to give in. And no, I wasn’t part of those bets,” Kenny wags a finger at him; he actually wags a fucking finger at him, “don’t even go there.”

“I wasn’t,” Craig lies before he swallows deeply; he takes in Kenny’s words, tries to understand, tries to find stability within the logic, but… he’s not quite ready to trust, to believe, to take the facts and just see them as truth. Not just yet, “I’m gonna ask you again Kenny,” he says, gazing at Kenny with unwavering patience, “why have you been so persistent in asking me out?”

“Because I fucking like you,” Kenny answers heatedly, with confidence and honesty pouring out of every pore, “and you fucking like me.”

Craig blinks, desperately praying that the blush isn’t visible on his tanned cheeks. “That’s an,” he begins, before he chews at his bottom lip, “an _aggressive_ way to confess to someone.” Then he frowns and narrows his eyes at the blond as mortification licks at his stomach, “who the fuck gave you the idea that I _liked_ you?”

“Dude, it’s so obvious,” Kenny snickers, blue eyes gleaming brightly, “but not for the reasons you think.”

“I’m seconds away from slamming this door in your face.”

“We’ve dated before Friday,” Kenny is quick to say, his hand flying out to wrap around the door, holding it open with alarming strength; Craig finds himself tingling as he takes in Kenny’s show of force and mentally scolds himself for having such a reaction. God, he’s so fucking gone for this boy and it’s gonna bite him in the ass and—

Wait.

“What?” he utters, finally registering Kenny’s words, tearing his gaze away from Kenny’s calloused hands and long fingers to peer suspiciously at the blond.

“We’ve… _fuck_ , dude. Would you believe that we’ve been on seventeen dates?” Kenny asks, but Craig can only gape with confusion; Kenny clearly takes advantage of his silence as he continues acerbically, “ _seventeen_ fucking dates. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked you out, but seventeen times, you said yes. The first time we went out, it was to Stark’s Pond. We took Tricia and Karen, then we skated all afternoon – you didn’t even give a shit that our sisters were there, ‘cause you’re just. Amazing, you know?” Craig wants to speak, wants to answer him, but he can’t, ‘cause all the words just… disappear in his throat, choked out by emotions he can’t quite name yet. He doesn’t remember skating with Kenny at Stark’s Pond, doesn’t remember spending an afternoon with their sisters.

Why?

Why doesn’t he remember?

And Kenny just stares at him with beseeching eyes until something that resembles disappointment flickers across his face and the blond just deflates, his cheeks losing that pink flush and his voice growing toneless with despondence. “But then. I don’t know. The ice suddenly cracks… and I fall through. And I die listening to the three of you cry over me, begging for help, praying that you can save me. But my last thought, fuck man.” Kenny glances up at him with wet eyes, and Craig’s just… horrified and enamoured all at once by the boy before him, “my last thought was a prayer, fucking weak right? Shit dude, I _prayed_ that you would remember me asking you out. I hoped you would think I’d just stood you up, but no. You forgot _everything_ , so I thought, fuck it. Let’s try again.”

Craig swallows as he tries hard to recall any of what Kenny’s saying, but he can’t.

Still… there’s like, an itch. An echo. Something which crawls in the back of his mind which feels like utter devastation by something he can’t quite remember. It makes him feel hollow and sad and he doesn’t know why, except maybe… maybe now he does?

“We went to the arcades in Denver on our second first date. We pissed off everyone on the bus ride over, singing Fall Out Boy and ragging on their shitty outfit choices. We dicked around with the machines, won plushies for each other – you got me a goddamn _Sylveon_ dude, ate really shitty food, and then. Then we found that machine, where you can put in a nickel and it gives you the chance to nudge a bunch of nickels into the hatch, or whatever? Well, we tried to cheat it, tried to tip it over to get more nickels, only we tipped it too far and it fell on me and I died getting crushed.”

“Shit.”

“Again, I hoped you would be all: fuck you, Kenny for standing me up, but no. You just… forgot the whole, confessing my feelings shit, again. I lost my Sylveon, you probably lost your Umbreon,” Craig blinks, ‘cause Kenny got him an Umbreon? Holy shit, “Seventeen times, man. Seventeen times I confessed, and we went out and then I died, and you fucking forgot.” Kenny sounds mad, but oddly, Craig has the feeling he’s not actually pissed at him but just at the whole situation in general.

“All of this sounds like that not-so-lame Adam Sandler movie,” he notes, wetting his lips as he slowly digests Kenny’s tale, “except with more death and less walruses.”

“Yeah, Cartman said the same thing,” Kenny snorts, which tells Craig that Cartman somehow remembers. He briefly wonders if anyone else does, if Kenny’s other shitty friends know, or if Karen and Kevin know, ‘cause like. It must _suck_ , the whole _dying_ thing and then the _everyone forgetting_ thing. Like, if Kenny’s telling the truth then… fuck.

That’s gotta be lonely as fuck.

Still… Craig’s not totally convinced just yet.

“Did we… did any of these dates take place after the assembly?” he asks, ‘cause it’s important; he can’t quite explain why, but he needs to know if he had Kenny after the assembly took place.

“Nah, you wouldn’t give me the time of day,” Kenny says, shaking his head as he shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks honestly wounded and Craig has the sudden urge to pull Kenny into his arms and wrap him up in a blanket or some shit. Just… he just wants to take the blond away from whatever is fucking hurting him and then, oh shit, he realises that it’s _him_.

 _He’s_ the one hurting Kenny.

“Thought you weren’t serious about dating me,” he says lamely, ducking his head as he tries to explain his shitty behaviour over the past few weeks.

“I am,” Kenny says roughly, his eyes dark and his lips drawn together in a solemn frown, “I’ve always been serious about you, I promise.”

“I…” Craig trails off, feeling hot and flustered and unbalanced, “how do I know that we’ve dated seventeen times?” he asks, ‘cause there’s a little voice inside his head telling him he’s being a dumb bitch for falling for Kenny’s bullshit – it sounds a lot like Token, goddammit.

“I can’t prove it to you,” Kenny says, sounding frustrated and pained, running a hand through his hair and messing it up into an unfairly attractive mess, “all the receipts, the texts, the photos, the fucking evidence, all of it gets erased whenever I die,” which is highly convenient, but… well, Kenny’s a good actor, but he can’t be this good, right? “So, you just have to trust me.”

He looks sweetly beseeching.

Like, his eyes are wet and pleading, and Craig is horrified at the notion that Kenny might actually get on his knees and beg Craig to believe him, complete with hysterics and theatrics. And strangely, it’s actually enough for Craig – ‘cause ever since he can remember, his life has been nothing but hysterics and theatrics. Like, he’s been abducted by aliens, battled giant guinea pigs, played in Michael Jackson’s backyard… weird shit happens to him all that time, and this?

Kenny being immortal?

Kenny dying?

Kenny actually liking him back?

Well… they’re just more weird shitty things to happen to him, albeit, that last one isn’t so shitty, but is certainly the weirdest on the list.

“Right. Okay. Okay, yeah, whatever. I believe you,” Craig says, nodding to himself, sinking further into certainty with every word which falls from his lips.

“Y-You do?” Kenny utters, looking thoroughly surprised and astonished.

Craig snorts and rubs the back of his neck, leaning against the frame with a wry smirk. “Have you seen where we live? I shoot lasers outta my eyes when I get pissed off and Robert Smith once destroyed Mecha-Streisand,” although, it’s been a long-ass time since his laser eyes have been called into action, but the whole Mecha-Streisand thing is a little harder to forget, “you being immortal isn’t the _freakiest_ thing about this town.”

“You… you really believe me?” Kenny stammers, his cheeks turning pink as he gazes up at Craig with pure, unadulterated joy. It’s… uncomfortable, having that much human sweetness focused upon him, but Craig thinks he could get used to it. If it’s Kenny, that is.

“Yeah, but like. Have you ever told me this before?” he asks, oddly curious about all the potential times he’s heard this story, only to forget it moments later.

“No,” Kenny tells him, his sparkle dimming, despite his cheeks maintaining their glow, “I wanted to see if I could get through one date without dying first. I kinda… took it as fate saying we weren’t meant to be, but then I got sick and tired of fate trying to dictate my life. I kept asking you out outta spite, but also ‘cause I think you have the hottest ass this side of town.”

“I really don’t, my ass is all bone.”

“True, but your face is still pretty.”

“So I’m learning,” Craig pauses, “at an alarming rate this month.”

“I… why did you keep saying no? I mean, not to sound big-headed and shit, but like,” Kenny huffs out a short laugh, “you’ve never said no to me before that assembly.”

Craig ducks his head to hide his embarrassed flush, ‘cause it all seems so pointlessly petty at this point, especially after hearing all the shit Kenny’s gone through. Fuck, and the guy still likes him – must be some kinda masochist, damn. “You laughed at Wendy’s presentation. You always had… a fucking audience whenever you asked me out. Figured you thought dating me was _funny_. I didn’t want to go on a date with you in case you realised I genuinely liked you… I didn’t want you to laugh at me.”

“Babe, I was laughing at myself; I figured Wendy had discovered my big, gay crush on you and decided exposing me would be the best way to get me to act on that shit. I would _never_ laugh at you,” then Kenny pauses and shoots him a crooked smile, “unless something really funny happened to you, like a bird shitting on your head, I should be allowed full rights to take the piss outta you then.”

“I…” Craig can’t say that he _knows_ that about Kenny ‘cause he doesn’t, so he says, “I didn’t want to take that risk. I mean, you never asked me out in a way that was kinda… meaningful and shit. It was always at school—”

“I always asked you out at school before,” Kenny explains quickly, “I guess I wanted to trigger your memory or some stupid shit. Fuck, Kyle told me to be more fucking honest but dude’s never dicked down a person, so what the fuck does he know?”

“A lot more than you?”

“Point.”

“Obviously,” Craig says before he sighs and wraps his arms tightly around his body, “you know, it’s you being _you_ that put me off going on a date with you. Tweek told me not to say _yes_ until you proved yourself serious about me.”

“And me getting into a fight with Token proved it?” Kenny snorts.

“It was more our sisters getting into a fight which prompted me to,” Craig shrugs, “consider taking you seriously.”

Kenny nods, grinning broadly, his dimples in full force, “oh, those tricksy lesbians; they’ll rule the world if we’re not careful, dude.” Then he tilts his head, his expression softening slightly, “you know, your friends are pretty protective.”

“Your friends are surprisingly supportive,” Craig remarks, ghosting his fingers over the faded bruise on his jawline. Stan’s constantly pissed at him, and Kyle’s always ready with an insult and a glare, but overall, Craig can’t help but feel somewhat approved of.

“Oh yeah,” Kenny snorts, “took ‘em a while, but they got there. Butters thinks it’s all romantic and dreamy. Kyle and Stan think I could do better, but they also think I could do a lot worse. So, you better treat me nice, Tucker. Your friends aren’t the only ones willing to spill blood over this relationship.”

“Oh, we have a _relationship_ now?” Craig asks, arching a brow to hide just how fucking delighted he feels by Kenny’s word. A relationship – he’s in a _relationship_ , Kenny McCormick is his _boyfriend_ , oh it’s all so fucking gay, it’s fucking fabulous.

“Yep and Cartman was pissed at first when he realised just how much I, y’know, wanted you. Dick thought we weren’t compatible at all,” Kenny snickers, “plus he’s the only fucker who remembers me dying. You _not_ remembering me dying was like, a personal affront for him, but I wouldn’t bother trying to earn his respect or approval.”

“I literally never even considered doing such a thing.”

“He does think I should hold out for a sugar daddy though.”

“Funny, Clyde said the same thing.”

“Don’t you guys have Token?”

“And that’s what Jimmy said.”

Kenny snickers and ducks his head as they fall into silence; it’s not a _bad_ silence either, but a silence that Craig feels comfortable with. He doesn’t feel prickly or self-conscious, doesn’t feel obliged to fill up the quiet with his blabber… instead, Craig feels—

“So,” Kenny declares, rocking on his heels as his eyes shutter slightly, “that’s all I came to say. I don’t… I’m not, like, pressuring you for anything, ‘cause I just unloaded a shit-load of shit on your doorstep, so like. I don’t know… process it? I really do wanna date you and I really do wanna touch your ass and maybe make out with that pretty face of yours, but.” He shrugs helplessly, “don’t feel like you have to, okay?”

Craig blinks.

He blinks and blinks and blinks.

Then Kenny shorts him a wry salute and begins to walk away and Craig finds that he hates it – he hates the sight of Kenny’s back, hates the sight of Kenny walking away and leaving him and shit, he doesn’t need time to process anything, he just needs—

“Kenny,” Craig calls out quickly before he does something dumb like lose his nerve.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go out on Saturday?” he asks.

“I— _seriously_?” Kenny asks, blinking quickly as his face freezes in stunned delight; there’s a pink flush on his cheeks and his mouth is softly agape as he stares openly at Craig.

“I’m pretty processed up,” Craig reports before he cocks his head. “Is that a yes? I kinda owe you a Sylveon anyway, right?”

Kenny’s mouth opens and closes, his pink blush deepening to a stark red; Craig watches that flush crawl over sharp cheekbones, coats the tip of a pointed nose before spreading down to hide beneath that godawful parka. Fucking hell, Kenny loves him. Kenny actually loves him and Craig… Craig’s a dumb fucking bitch, ‘cause it’s just so _obvious_.

“Yeah,” Kenny finally utters, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, “dude, yes!”

“Eager much?” Craig teases, but the pure pleasure he feels spills out into a warm tone.

“Are you kidding? You’ve never asked me out before,” Kenny says, all pure joy and sheer delight.

“I haven’t?”

Kenny shakes his head, his dazzling, dimpled smile firmly in place.

Craig feels regret sink in his stomach, a block of ice that chips away at the prickling nerves swarming his gut. Shit, okay – if they’re gonna do this shit, then they need to communicate properly, treat each other properly, start being respectful, and all that other gay-ass shit that Tweek preaches about. Craig knows they should’ve started this shit weeks ago, but hey.

Better late than never.

“Well, I’m asking you out now,” he says, before he frowns and peers up at the sky, “so you can’t fucking kill him! If I forget this shit, I’ll be so fucking pissed!”

There’s a beat of silence, briefly intercepted by Tricia loudly declaring him to have finally lost his goddamn mind.

“Dude, who are you yelling at?” Kenny asks, eyes wide as his lips twitch upwards.

“God, death, Cthulhu? Fucking fate itself?” Craig shrugs, ‘cause he’s not entirely sure who keeps fucking Kenny over, but they’re on his shit-list now forever, “whoever keeps taking you away from me, fuck.”

“Tucker, you can’t—” Kenny cuts himself off, his tone faintly weak; he shakes his head as he bites at his lip, “you can’t just say that kinda shit to a boy.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Craig says deadpans, “just don’t fucking die on your way home.”

“I promise babe,” Kenny says, ducking in quick to slot their mouths together in a messy, wet kiss which is mostly teeth and tongue; their smiles are too broad for their lips to properly lock together but neither one of them seems up for caring about that fact. It’s their first kiss and it’s perfectly awful and it tastes like Doritos and holy shit, Craig wants to die in Kenny’s mouth, goddamn, “I’m not gonna die today.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Craig says breathlessly, lips still tingling as he eyes the tiny spot of blood clinging to Kenny’s wet mouth.

“Craig, you can hold me to many fucking things.”

“Will you just go home already,” Craig says, pressing a hand to his face to hide his smile, “I have shit to do.”

“Oh yeah? Does it have anything to do with those sexy little yoga pants you’re rocking and a… holy shit, is that a crop top. Babe, you have been holding out on me.”

“I’m not wearing it on our date.”

“Would you wear it to bed?” Kenny winks and yeah, that’s a line Craig has to draw.

“Home,” he orders, biting back a grin, “now.”

“Bossy,” Kenny grins, “I love it.”

“You love everything about me.”

“Yeah,” Kenny says, breathless and shameless, “I think I do.”

* * *

Craig doesn’t think he’s totally bought the whole _immortality_ schtick until he actually experiences it.

They waltz into school together – Kenny had picked him and Tricia up in his shitty truck, dropping their sisters off at their school before cruising down to PCH. Craig finds that he doesn’t actually mind the whispers and the giggles when he has Kenny by his side, when Kenny has his arm loosely slung around Craig’s shoulders, tucking him against his body protectively. He doesn’t feel the nervous itch or the discomforting pressure against his heart, not when Kenny is with him.

Craig doesn’t even notice anyone else and it feels pretty liberating; he ignores the wolf whistles from his friends, the heckles from Kenny’s friends, and focuses on the fact that for once in his life, Craig is _not_ The Guy. He’s not being laughed at, no one is mocking him beyond Cartman’s weak-ass taunts, he’s just… a guy. In a relationship with another guy. Happy and loved and shit.

It evokes a pretty sweet fuzzy feeling in his chest which floods his veins and leaves Craig all warm and melted inside as he peers up at Kenny’s softly grinning face.

The feeling doesn’t really last long, as his ears prick up at the sound of whining metal. It’s the only warning they receive before a light fixture above them comes crashing down, snapping away from the wires in the ceiling and the brackets holding it in place. Kenny sighs with bittersweet resignation and shoots Craig a sad smile as he pushes the guy outta the way.

But _fuck_ that.

Craig, with reflexes he never imagined possessing, reaches out and scoops Kenny closer to him, wrapping an arm around the blond and pulling him away from the light as it hurtles to the ground, crashing with an awful burst of buzzing electricity and shattering glass.

“Fuck, fate really fucking hates you, huh?” Craig snorts breathlessly, eyeing the damage and trying hard to _not_ imagine Kenny crushed underneath it. God, he wonders if he’s ever actually _seen_ Kenny crushed, but he’s quick to stamp that thought out quickly. Fuck that, if fate wants Kenny, then fate’s gonna have to _fight_ for him, ‘cause Craig ain’t letting him go for anything.

Kenny just gazes up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, “we should make babies one day.”

“Let’s start with Saturday and then we can talk babies,” Craig says with a small smile, his skin tingling from Kenny’s warmth.

“I’m gonna wife you,” Kenny continues, eyes still sparkling with thinly-veiled awe.

“Whatever makes you happy, babe.”

“I’ll make you Poptarts every day and we can have, like, fifty guinea pigs too.”

“Sounds good, honey.”

“God, I want to suck your dick so bad. Can I? Can I please suck your dick?”

“Dude, we have Biology right now.”

“I wanna make _C_ _hemistry_ right now.”

“What does that even mean?”

* * *

“Think you owe me some money, Testaburger.”

“I don’t remember making a bet, Eric,” Wendy replies, watching as Craig and Kenny waltz down the hallway with their pinkies linked and faces flushed, “although, I wish I had, seeing as _I’m_ the winner here.”

“How the fuck are you the winner?”

“I’m sorry, are you conveniently forgetting that _you_ were the one who determined Craig and Kenny to be a poor match? Who said that _I_ had no taste—”

“You’re literally dating Stan and Kyle, what the fuck—”

“—and that I couldn’t hook up _two_ idiots?” Wendy continues, her eyes flashing with an unspoken warning, “so I think you’ll find that I win this hypothetical bet of ours.”

“Look, they’re still two fucking idiots who shouldn’t be sucking each other’s dicks, but it’s whatever. Kenny’s fucking happy and shit, which means he’ll owe me favours for the rest of his fucking life seeing as _I_ was instrumental in them getting together,” Cartman rolls his eyes, before his gaze skitters across to the air beside Wendy’s head for a moment, eyebrows knitting together with irritation, “alright fine, _we_ were instrumental in getting them together—”

“I wasn’t—”

“—but getting Karen and Tricia involved was _my_ plan, so fuck you,” he says, ignoring her protests as he continues to glare at the space above her head; for some reason, Wendy isn’t entirely sure that it’s _her_ he’s speaking to.

“I don’t,” she begins, before her words trail off as she rolls her eyes and sighs defeatedly, “I don’t have the energy for this. Well done, Eric Cartman, you truly are a matchmaker extraordinaire.”

“Don’t you fucking forget it.”


End file.
